Little Lady
by JustAGirl'xo
Summary: Growing up in the roughest area of Manchester, fifteen-year-old Carla's life was never going to be easy. Her mother was a lifelong crack addict, her father was nowhere to be seen, and her mother's new bloke was ruling the roost. But then she met Peter. This is her story. COMPLETED 8/9/2012!
1. Little Lady

**A/N: Hey, everyone! I came up with the idea for this a few days ago. It's loosely based on the story of the song 'Little Lady' by Ed Sheeran, which, in case you haven't heard it, is absolutely heart-wrenching. I'm not sticking to the lyrics or the story completely, as Peter will be added partway through. Basically, Carla Connor is fifteen-years-old (and uses her maiden name). Frank Foster is her mother's bastard of a boyfriend. This is a completely AU fic, so a little imagination is needed here. Frank's in his mid to late thirties. Peter Barlow is eighteen and has just left the Navy, and becomes Carla's hero as Frank starts to force her to do things that a lot of young girls wouldn't even dream of. This is rated T, but there WILL be violence, swearing, sexual references etc. Nothing too graphic, but if you're easily upset then I suggest you look away now. There is NO specific mention of rape in this fic; it may be insinuated at times, but it is up to readers what they believe has happened in the past. I own nothing, unfortunately. Carter will be heavily featured in later chapters :)! I haven't written for a while, so this could be a bit iffy, please bear with me! And I'm going away from Saturday - Monday night and am back at school after that, so updates may be slow as I'm about to sit my GCSEs! . Sorry in advance!  
>Chloe XOXO<strong>

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><p><span>Little Lady<span>

'Home: An environment offering security and happiness and a valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin'. For fifteen-year-old Carla O'Brien, 'home' provided her with none of the above. 'Home' was a rundown, uncared for two-bedroom flat that she was forced to return to each and every evening straight after school without fail. She lived in this hellhole with her mother, the ever-absent, constantly-off-her-face Sheryl O'Brien, and her six-year-old brother, Darren. It had been just the three of them for years, ever since Carla's errant father had miraculously disappeared, much to his only daughter's dismay. As useless as he had been, he had at least provided them with a bit of money, and had been around to look after the kids while Sheryl was off getting her next fix from god knows where. In recent months, however, the family set-up had been torn apart with the arrival of Sheryl's latest fella, infamous bully Frank Foster. He'd elbowed his way into the centre of the family, disrupting everything that Carla knew and had somehow grown to love. Now, her mother's addiction was no longer a shameful secret, dirty laundry which was not to be aired in public under any circumstances. The whole of Manchester had been made aware that Sheryl O'Brien was nothing more than white powder dependant, a woman who was forced to rely on some dodgy bloke for the cash she needed to fund her habit. The childish taunts that Carla was forced to endure at school may have become unbearable, but she would have willingly accepted a thousand a day if it meant staying away from home, away from Frank and his overpowering, bully-boy tactics used to get his own way.

"Carla, come on, hear me out!" sixteen-year-old Luke Strong sighed, placing a gentle hand on girlfriend Carla's shoulder and spinning her around to face him, "If all I was after was a quick shag, I'd go and get one from somewhere else. I wouldn't pressure you into anything."

"Oh, thanks a fucking lot," Carla muttered, folding her arms angrily across her chest and leaning against the lockers that were cleverly positioned behind her, "You'd rather cheat on me than tempt me into bed with your pathetic charm. Nice, Luke, real nice."

"You know what I mean, Carla."

"Do I?"

"Yes. You do. So can we cut the crap, please? There's no need to inform your girlfriends of how I'm 'forcing you' to give me a good seeing to."

"I di-"

"Carla!" Luke exclaimed, placing his hands on the lockers behind her, one on each side of her head, "Promise me you'll stop going on about it. Please. And then let me kiss you." Carla held up her right hand, her fingers bent into a fist and her little finger left sticking out.

"Pinkie promise…" she replied, an obvious air of satire in her tone.

"You know, you're dead cute when you're angry," Luke teased, knowing just how much it would wind her up, as he leant in towards her and caught her lips between his own. For a brief moment, Carla was allowed to experience what it was like to be a normal teenager, a rare occasion. She was far from normal, and she had been forced to act a lot older than her years, meaning that something as simple as a kiss with Luke Strong was enough to remind her exactly who she was. Unfortunately, her best friend Suzie chose that precise moment to show her face, accompanied by the eternally cheerful and clearly loved-up Michelle Connor, whose doe-eyes and innocent expression were not enough to fool anyone around her that she hadn't spent a majority of her fourth year at school hopping from bed-to-bed with random Sixth Form boys.

"Sorry to interrupt the suck-off, but some of us have homes to go," Suzie announced, screwing her nose up in disgust as she grabbed Carla by the hand and dragged her out of Luke's passionate embrace, "Are you coming out tonight, missy?"  
>Carla shook her head, glancing down at the school's wood flooring beneath her. "I can't. I'm working." Technically, it wasn't a lie. She would be working, albeit not where her friends thought.<p>

"No you're not. I checked the rota, idiot." Suzie frowned, slipping a finger under Carla's chin and tilting her head up so she could look her in the eye. "Hey. What's going on with you, Car?"

"Nothing."

"Stop lying to me."

"I'm not lying, Suze, I'm fine. Just drop it," Carla snapped, dropping Suzie's hand and slowing down her pace so she fell behind and found herself walking next to Luke once more.

"Suit yourself, stroppy mare," Suze muttered, rolling her eyes before quickly leaping into conversation with Michelle about her the latest lad to succumb to her feminine wiles. Concerned, Luke slipped an arm around Carla's waist, halting her steps.

"Babe, what's up?" he asked, keeping his voice low and out of the earshot of the rest of the world, "You've been acting odd lately. Is it me?"

"No. No, it's nothing to do with you…" Carla assured him, anxiously glancing up at a clock hanging just above the main door leading outside, aware that if she wasn't back by half three on the dot, she'd be in big, big trouble.

"Then what?" Luke slowly moved his other arm around her, tilting his head forward and touching his lips to the side of her neck, mumbling his next words against it, "Is it school? Work? Something at home?"

"Oh, just give it a rest, will you? I'm sick of you playing Mr Nice Guy when all you're really concerned about is getting in my knickers by the end of the year! I've had enough!" Carla retorted, wrenching herself from Luke's strong grasp and storming to the door, her face filled with fury.

"Alright, Carla, no need to jump down my fucking throat!" Luke yelled, narrowing his eyes at her retreating back.

Slamming the front door of the flat behind her, inevitably causing the entire wall to tremble dangerously, Carla was pleasantly surprised to find that no one was home. Or so she thought. She gasped upon noticing her little brother, Darren, sprawled out across the living room floor, moving his little toy train along an old wooden train track.

"What time did you get home?" Carla asked, falling to her knees beside him. Darren held up his hand, his fingers spread out.

"Five minutes ago?" she continued. He nodded. It was then that Carla noticed exactly what he had been using as the materials that the train was transporting.

"Darren!" Carla exclaimed, grabbing the little bags of white powder from the back of the train, "What the hell have I told you about touching these?"

"I was only playing! I didn't take any!" Darren cried, his lower lip trembling as Carla quickly got to her feet and moved over to the sink.

"Don't you dare do it again. I'm only looking out for you, love…" Carla sighed, ripping open the little plastic bag and tipping the contents directly down the drain just as the front door banged open.

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at, you stupid little cow?" came the booming voice of Frank Foster, their mother's boyfriend. His eyes were full of rage as he glared furiously at Carla, though this did not startle her in the slightest.

"I've told you to keep these out of Darren's reach!" Carla yelled in reply, dropping the now-empty packet to the floor. Frank took a couple of slow steps towards her, clenching his fists.

"Do you not know how much this lot costs me, you thick little whore?" he roared, a few throbbing veins visible at his temples. "You can make up for it by taking that lot over there out to the shifty looking bloke at the end of the street!"

"And what if I don't want to?" Carla queried, bravely testing him. She was soon to discover that this was a massive mistake, however, as Frank furiously grabbed hold of her wrist, twisting her arm backwards.

"You will do as I say, because we both remember what happened last time, don't we?" he spat through gritted teeth, digging his fingers further into her pressure points at the sign of extreme pain in her expression. "Now go!" As he released her from his grasp, he slammed her back against the wall, her shoulder smashing against it and sending a shooting pain through her collarbone. Reluctantly, she scurried over towards the front door and, grabbing the small brown bag from the table as she passed, hastily disappeared outside. Once safely out of harm's way, Carla finally allowed herself to breathe, leaning against the wall for support as a flurry of tears cascaded down her cheeks as a result of Frank's vicious outburst.


	2. Warped

**Thank you for the reviews, they mean a lot to me! Peter will be appearing in a few chapters time, so bear with me, Carter fans! Remember, this will get a lot darker, because Frank's an evil bastard. This'll probably be my last reply until Tuesday at the earliest, because I'm going away for the weekend.  
>Chloe XOXO<strong>

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><p>Short skirt, long hair, high heels, wide eyes. Carla knew the routine. She knew what Frank's customers liked, and that was why she was used as bait. Men in long, black coats would much rather meet up with a teenage girl who flaunted her assets than a middle-aged bloke with scruffy hair and dark, tell-tale circles framing his eyes. After taking a minute or two to calm herself down after her little run-in with Frank, Carla had quickly ran her fingers through her long, raven hair in an attempt to make herself appear presentable, or even attractive. She kept a wary eye on the man stood hunched over at the far side of the street, smoking something that probably contained a hell of a lot more than just tobacco. She rolled her skirt up another inch and a half so that it ended just below her crotch before proceeding forward, the little brown bag and its contents hidden underneath her leather jacket. The man glanced up at her, a majority of his face concealed behind a brown trilby hat and the shadow that it created, as Carla crossed the street, her lips pursed in a sultry manner.<p>

"Got it?" he asked, his voice somewhat husky and low. Carla nodded, stopping directly in front of him and, after looking around to make sure they were alone, quickly handed him the bag.

"You got the cash?" she questioned in reply, maintaining a strong grasp on the goods until the man paid up. Fortunately, the man reached into his coat pocket and produced a wad of £20 notes.

"I owe Frank a bit from last week as well. It's all there…" he murmured, reaching out in front of him and slipping the money into the side pocket of Carla's skirt before slowly running his thumb over its waistband, which was positioned on her hips. "You seem like a good kid. I've heard a bit about you…"

"I do as I'm told. But I don't take crap from anyone." Carla replied, letting out a shaky breath, alarm bells ringing in her ears as the man's hand trailed down her skirt. He started to lightly finger the hem, his thumb brushing against her thigh. Of course, there was nothing she could do about the uncomfortable atmosphere that he created. If she kicked up a fuss, the stranger's actions could start to get nasty. Or worse, Frank could find out about her defiance, and Frank Foster was not a sensible man to cross.

"Well, if ever you need a bit more… Dosh… You just come and find me, if you know what I mean…" the man trailed off, raising his eyebrow, suggestively, before dropping her skirt from between his thumb and forefinger and giving her a sly wink. To her relief, he turned his back on her and, stuffing the bag under his shirt, disappeared into the murky alleyway behind him. Carla waited until she could no longer see his dark figure before releasing her repressed breath, her heart pounding so forcefully that she was sure it could be heard by anyone passing. She dealt with perverts like him each and every day. It was a miracle that the worst she'd ever received was a fondled skirt, an occasional stroked thigh and a load of vulgar propositions, and she was well aware that there were people out there who were capable of a lot worse than what Frank's warped clients dished out.

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><p>"Frank? What colour hair do you want? I haven't got a brown, it broke. I've only got red, yellow and green," Darren explained, triumphantly placing his red crayon down on the kitchen table as he finished drawing the outline of 'his house' on the back page of his colouring book. Frank was perched on the edge of the sofa, holding his head in his hands. He looked wearily up at Darren and shrugged his shoulders.<p>

"I don't care. Whatever…" he mumbled, lowering his head once more as an instant tiredness started to creep up on him, an effect of his drug high beginning to wear off.

"I want you to pick wha-"

"Darren, can you shut your sodding trap for five fucking minutes?" Frank thundered, his head snapping up and his beady eyes instantly fixing on the little boy in front of him. Darren's bottom lip trembled. His eyes started to fill with tears as he quickly jumped to his feet and backed into the bedroom that he shared with his older sister, who, having overheard the conversation from just outside the front door, stormed into the flat.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Frank, her pale green eyes full of only one emotion: hatred. "He's six years old! You're a bully, you know that?" Frank held his hands up, apologetically, seemingly undergoing a strange kind of character transformation as a result of Carla's harsh but true words.

"Carla, I'm sorry…" he sighed, causing Carla to narrow her eyes in suspicion, "I haven't been myself lately. I'm beginning to miss your mother…"

"Where is she? I asked you yesterday and you wouldn't tell me where she was."

"I told you as much as I know. She's gone to clear her head. We both know that means she's lying in a gutter somewhere, pissed out of her brains, so it's my job to look after you both…"

"Mum wouldn't leave us," Carla replied, folding her arms across her chest, puzzled by Frank's sudden change of personality.

"I'm sorry, love. I know it's hard on you… Why don't you go out tonight, ey? See some of your friends? You must miss them, being cooped up in here with me and your brother every day…" suggested Frank. Carla's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You wouldn't mind?" she asked, a part of her relieved at the opportunity of spending an evening away from Frank and the insanity that had become her daily life.

"Of course not! Go on, go and get changed and pop round to see that boyfriend of yours."

"What time should I be home? I'll need to put Darren to bed…"

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I'll sort it. He'll be fine with me, you just go and enjoy yourself…" Dismissing her with one hand, Frank turned his head to glance out of the window behind him, his lips soon forming a smirk, his eyes gleaming wickedly. Keeping up the pretence was easier than he'd thought it would be. He'd have Carla in the palm of his hand soon enough, and he'd be able to put his little masterplan into action…


	3. Venom

_**A/N: Thank you so, so much for the reviews, they mean a lot to me! I'll admit that this chapter isn't my best. I wanted to get one out to you tonight to keep you going until the weekend, so I might end up tweaking it about a bit at a later stage. Warning: contains violence, bad language and sexual references. I hope you like it:)**_

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><p>A little more than two hours and a couple of bottles of cider later, Carla and Suzie were beginning to feel the effects of their alcohol consumption as they lay across Suzie's front garden wall, thankful that her parents had chosen that evening to go and see a show in town and wouldn't be back until the early hours of the following morning. They were both fully aware of just how livid Suzie's mother would be if she were to see the pair of them in that state, in complete contrast to Carla's mother, who would most likely be spurring them on or even downing a bottle of Bacardi herself. Carla stretched out her arm and let the backs of her fingers brush against the damp grass beneath the wall, the moisture leaving a slimy trail across her fingertips as she listened to the somewhat irritating beeping of Suzie's new mobile phone. Suzie was lucky. Her parents thought nothing of throwing away twenty-odd quid on a phone if it meant that their precious little girl would be safer. Carla's mum rarely even knew whether her daughter was home or not.<p>

"Ey up. Sounds like loverboy's on his way…" Suzie announced, glancing up from her phone after reading the message that had popped up on her screen, "That was Michelle. She's on her way down here 'cause Dean's blown her off again. I reckon Luke's with her."

"Who's Dean?"

"Tall? Blonde? Sixth Form? Been shagging Michelle for the last six weeks? Carla, do you never listen?"

"Sorry…" Carla mumbled, pushing herself up into a sitting position, "I've had a lot on my mind…" She squinted into the distance and was able to make out a couple of blurry silhouettes that were fast approaching them. Suzie instantly followed Carla's eye line, giving a smug shrug of her shoulders as she saw the distant figures.

"Told you," she sung, triumphantly. On reaching them, Luke didn't utter a word, simply greeting Carla with small, stiff nod, signifying that he was still deeply infuriated with her.

"Luke, can we talk…?" Carla asked, subconsciously chewing on the right corner of her lower lip. Luke sighed, irritated that such a subtle action could make her seem utterly adorable.

"Yeah, I think we need to… Come here…" Taking her hand and helping her to her feet, Luke tugged her over to the far side of Suzie's front garden, staying amongst the dark shadows to keep them from prying eyes.

"I'm so-…" He cut her short as she began her apology, lightly touching his index finger to her soft, plump lips.

"Don't, Car… Don't…" he murmured, hesitating for only a matter of seconds before slowly moving closer to her and eventually allowing his lips to brush tenderly against hers, his arms snaking around her waist and joining behind her back. In her semi-drunken haze, Carla thought nothing of the fact that the kiss quickly deepened, and it wasn't long before the pair were caught in a passionate embrace, Luke's tongue stroking against the roof of her mouth and causing an involuntary moan to escape from deep in her throat. Taking her verbal reaction as a sign of encouragement, Luke took her shoulders between his strong hands and pushed her through Suzie's open front door forcefully, though not forcefully enough to do her any damage.

"Where are we going…?" Carla asked, even though she was pretty damn sure of what his answer would be. Her hands, which had previously been roaming across his back, found their way to his shirt collar, which she playfully toyed with as she gave him a seductive smile and waited for his reply.

"Bedroom?"

"There is no way we're having sex on my best mate's bed."

"Carla, I thought you weren't ready?" Surprised, Luke moved in to give her a sweet, lingering kiss on her cheek before planting similar kisses across her jawline and down her neck, making sure to brush his lips over each of her most sensitive points. Reaching her shoulder, he paused as he eyed up her black and scarlet bra strap, moving his hand up from its position on her hip to lightly finger the elegant lace detail. Carla watched him with bated breath, her heart rate increasing drastically as his finger moved further and further downwards, a sudden fluttery feeling spreading across her stomach.

"Luke, I… I can't…" she whimpered, her lower lip trembling with nerves.

"Yes… Yes, you can…" Luke whispered in reply, before roughly pressing his lips against hers, moving her backwards until her back slammed against the wall, his hands wandering all over her body as his tongue invaded her mouth.

"No, Luke, stop-…"

"Oh, Carla, I love y-"

"Luke, stop it!" Carla yelled, her eyes as wide as saucers as she used every ounce of force that she had to push him off of her before hastily slipping out of the front door.

"Carla!" Luke called after her, exasperated, following her as she made her way down the front path, past Suzie and Michelle, their vision was now so hazy that they had no idea what was occurring, and across the street.

"Piss off, Luke!" Carla snapped in reply, refusing to look back at her friends and persistent boyfriend as she crossed the road without even checking for cars and started to make her way home. Unbeknownst to her, Carla was being watched. More than that, in fact; she was being followed home. Someone had seen the entire incident from his hiding place in the shadows, and that someone was far from happy. He was going to make her pay…

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><p>Slut. Whore. Tart. These words flashed through Carla's mind as the events of that night replayed over and over, each time seeming more and more vile and disgusting than the last. She froze outside the door to the flat, her hand firmly on the handle, preparing herself for the flurry of questions that were sure to spill from Frank's mouth as soon as she entered the room. Why was she home? What had gone wrong? What was that faint, purple bite on her neck and how had it got there? Unfortunately, she had no time to prepare her answers, as she was grabbed from behind and slammed against the flat door, Frank's malicious, evil eyes of venom staring accusingly into hers.<p>

"Well, well, well, the slapper returns…" he spat, his face dangerously close to her own, "I gave you permission to see your mates, not to bring shame to me and act like a first-class fucking hooker!"

"Nothing happened!" Carla insisted, her eyes wide with terror, her face creasing with pain as he sharply tugged on her hair.

"Nothing happened? So what the fuck is that, then?" Frank roared, jabbing at the discoloured bruise on her neck.

"It's nothing, Frank, we just kissed!" Carla cried, squirming and trying desperately to escape from his tight grasp.

"That wasn't what it looked like to me, you dirty little slut," Frank growled, moving his hand to the door handle and fiercely pushing the door open, thrusting her inside,

"Room. Now."

"But I-"

"Now!" Her body shivering violently, Carla didn't want to provide him with another reason to give her a good battering, so she quickly scurried into her room, doing nothing but remind him that he was a man of power. An authority figure. A person who had complete control of what happened next and exactly how much money he could make from her.

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><p>Carla jumped as a sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughtful state. She'd been sprawled out across her bed, staring at the ceiling for a few hours, and had assumed that Frank had either gone out or gone to bed himself. Sadly, she was proved wrong, as his head popped around the door, the fury in his eyes now mysteriously replaced with kindness and regret.<p>

"Carla…" he sighed, shaking his head at the sight of her, "I'm… I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me, I was just worried about you… Look, I've managed to make up for it."

"How?"

"I've got you a new job. Now, before you start reminding me that you already work at that little café, you and I both know that that place only gives you pennies. You could earn the big bucks here… We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? That's when you start. Eight o'clock, sharp. So get some sleep now…" He gave her an apologetic, half-hearted smile, quickly continuing before she could argue, "Night, sweetheart…" With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Carla in a state of confusion. He smirked wickedly to himself as he made his way through to his own bedroom. He hadn't lied. The buckaroos would come flying in through the window as a result of her new 'job'. Of course, they'd land straight in his pocket, but she didn't know the details. From what he'd seen earlier that night, she'd take to her new job like a duck to water…


	4. Curiosity

**A/N: Voila! Thanks for the reviews! Personally, I feel that this chapter is a bit rushed/jumpy/lacking in description/lacking in action/generally naff, but your opinions would be much appreciated. I didn't want to keep you all waiting any longer so I was desperate to get this out tonight. I hope this meets your expectations, because a certain someone makes an appearance in this chapter... ;)**

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><p>8:50am. Fortunately, Carla was only twenty minutes late for school. It was a miracle that she'd been able to drag herself out of bed at all. A raging hangover mixed with desperation to avoid Frank and the dread at the thought of seeing Luke again so soon after their almost-shenanigans had led to her waking up at an impressive quarter past eight. It had also taken her a whole ten minutes to frantically conceal both the bruise on her cheekbone that Frank had given her the previous night and also the nasty-looking love bite that was still throbbing on her neck, courtesy of Luke. Reaching the door of her form room, Carla took a deep breath before pushing it open only a fraction, hoping that she would be able to slip inside and take her regular seat next to Suzie without being noticed by Mr Banks, her form tutor, the average Physics-teaching bastard. Naturally, this was not the case.<p>

"Carla O'Brien, what sort of ridiculous time do you call this?" Mr Banks probed, just as Carla had placed her bag on her desk. Glancing at the clock on the wall next to the blackboard, she gave her teacher the sweetest, most angelic smile that she could muster up.

"Ten to nine, actually," she replied, slipping into her seat, "Why? Problem?"

"School starts at half eight, Miss O'Brien. See me at the end, you'd better have a damn good reason as to why you felt the need to miss all but the final ten minutes of my form session." At this, Carla simply rolled her eyes before turning her attention to Suzie, who was sat with her arms folded on the desk in front of her and her forehead resting on top of them.

"Headache?" Carla asked, knowingly.

"Oh, fuck off. I blame you for this, you bought the sodding stuff," Suzie mumbled, her voice muffled by her shirt sleeve.

"I didn't exactly pour it down your throat, though, you did a bloody good job of that yourself."

"Yeah, alright, sorry Mum. At least I didn't fuck the manwhore of Salford up against the wall in my so-called best mate's hallway-"

"Is that what Luke's been saying?" Carla exclaimed, her eyes widening in panic. If Luke had been spreading malicious gossip, there was no doubt in her mind that it'd be all around the Year 11 common room by break time.

"He didn't need to, I saw your tramp stamp when you came in…" Carla's hand flew to the bruising on her neck, leaving her fingertips the tanned colour of her foundation when she removed them.

"Shit…" she murmured, biting her lip, "Do you think anyone else noticed?"

"Probably, you should hav-…" Suzie's rather late piece of advice was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the bell, and, after saying a quick goodbye to her friend, Carla cautiously made her way to the front desk, preparing herself to face her fate.

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><p>She didn't know why she'd done it. She'd known that insulting a teacher would get her into a fair bit of trouble, so obviously referring to him as a 'fucking tosser with no sense of humour and a face like a well-slapped arse' would cost her her morning, breaktime and a majority of her lunch. Luckily, this didn't bother her in the slightest; it only meant that she was able to put off seeing Luke, who would no doubt have a lot to say about how she had made a complete fool out of him the night before. Much to her dismay, she was sent to her lesson immediately after her lunch break, which she had spent stapling dozens of old pupil reports together. From this seemingly pointless exercise, she'd discovered that Suzie was supposedly 'well-mannered, charming and an all-round pleasure to teach', something that would provide hours of playful teasing later on. As she took her usual seat next to Luke at the start of her English lesson, she felt his eyes boring into her, burning through her skin and attacking the fragile nerves beneath. There was an awkward minute of silence before Luke finally opened his mouth, giving her a disappointed stare as he spoke.<p>

"You didn't come and see me at break like you said you would."

"Yeah, funny that. See, I didn't think Mr Banks would appreciate my request to stop doing all his sodding paperwork for him so I could go and see my boyfriend for a quick snog around the back of the bike sheds," Carla scoffed, refusing to look at him as she retrieved her English book and anthology from her bag.

"There wouldn't have been any snogging behind the bike sheds, Carla. We needed to talk."

"Talk? Wow. I didn't realise you were capable of that. I thought you were a man of action, someone who'd happily give an underage girl a quick seeing to without so much as discussing it beforehand."

"Why are you having a go at me? You were the one sending me mixed messages last night!" Luke exclaimed, his brows furrowing in annoyance. Carla's eyes narrowed as she finally glanced up at him, shooting him the deathly stare that she was well-known for.

"I was fucking drunk, Luke."

"'Fucking' never came into the equation."

"If all you're after is a girlfriend who puts out, you know what you can do," Carla snapped, slamming her book shut and quickly shoving it back into her bag.

"You've got a really low opinion of me, haven't you? The only thing that pisses me off with this whole situation is that I know damn well that you're not a frigid cow, you're just pretending to be to wind me up," Luke shot back, frowning even more so as the Carla's chair legs scraped backwards against the floor, "Where the hell are you going?"

"Away from this shithole," Carla replied, swinging her bag over her shoulder and, without giving him a second glance, stormed out of the classroom door, banging it shut behind her. As she speedily made her way down the corridor in the general direction of the front gate, she swallowed back a sob as she felt tears pricking at the backs of her eyes, the disasters of the last couple of days finally proving too much for such a young, naïve girl to handle on her own. It wasn't as though she had anyone to talk to; Darren was far too little to burden, Luke didn't seem to give a damn about her problems and Suzie wouldn't understand. And as for Frank, well, he was the root cause of all her difficulties. Her mother had done a runner due to a combination of Frank's violent streak and her desperation to spend her days lying passed out on the wall of some stranger's front garden. Deep in thought, Carla's feet had subconsciously taken her straight out of the front gate and towards the local off-licence. Without even a slight hesitation, she disappeared inside and reappeared minutes later with a bottle of vodka enclosed in her fist. Dropping her bag down onto the curb, she sat beside it and made herself as comfortable as the concrete pavement would allow her to be, the length of her barely-existent skirt meaning that her bare thighs were pressed against the ice cold floor. She unscrewed the lid of the vodka and brought the bottle to her gloss-smothered lips, her hand trembling with the heightened emotions that were coursing through her veins. She downed as much of the liquid as she could without taking a breath before reluctantly jerking the bottle away, gasping for air as a single, mascara-tinted tear escaped from her eye and slipped down her cheek, leaving a stain as it moved. She was fast turning into a younger version of her mother and she hated it. In fact, she was so preoccupied with this that she didn't realise that she had company until a sudden shadow was cast over her. Standing directly in front of her was a young man no older than twenty-one, his dark hair tousled, his eyes, framed by the tired bags of a hard-worker, holding kindness and concern within them. He was dressed in a faded, black leather jacket and a pair of jeans which were torn just above the knee, supposedly on purpose. His hands were firmly positioned in his pockets and his expression showed nothing but curiosity and pity as he watched the young lady sat at his feet, fascinated.

"Hello…" He gave her the warmest of smiles and offered her his hand. "Are you alright?"

"Do I look it?" Carla sighed before taking hold of his wrist and using it to hoist herself up, slipping her small glass bottle into her jacket pocket as she did so.

"No, not really… Look, why don't you come with me for a moment?"

"Because I know exactly what you men are like and that 'come with me' has a much deeper meaning than implied." At her words, the man held up his hands in denial, quickly shaking his head.

"No, absolutely not," he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets once more, "I only want to sit you down somewhere relatively comfortable and make sure you're okay… What's your name?"

"Carla."

"Nice to meet you, Carla. I'm Peter. Peter Barlow…"


	5. Stranger

**Sorry it's been so long, I've had exams all month! This chapter is a bit crap because it's been written over two weeks, so I apologise in advance.**

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><p>"So…" Peter stretched his arms as he leant back against the cool pane of glass that made up the bus shelter that they had retreated to, careful to make sure that his leather jacket didn't brush against the freshly-sprayed graffiti, "You argued with your boyfriend and stormed out of school?"<p>

"You make me sound like some twelve-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. It was a lot worse than that. He keeps trying to get me into bed."

"And, let me guess, you're just not that into him?"

"It's not that, it's… It's complicated…" Carla sighed heavily, tipping her head back and resting the crown against the window. Peter nodded, his eyes knowing.

"I was fifteen once. I know what it's like."

"Did you ever storm out of school and seek solace in a bottle of vodka?"

"No, but then I never had a boyfriend who tried to tempt me into bed…" Peter grinned sheepishly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, "You want me to give you a lift home? I'm eighteen, I'm a perfectly safe driver…"

"No, it's all right…" Carla replied, placing the now-empty vodka bottle down on the floor by her feet before slowly getting up, her vision somewhat blurred due to her intoxicated state, "I only live just around the corner. I'm sure I can stumble my way back in one piece." She habitually ran her fingers through her waist-length, ebony hair, shooting him a nervous smile as she did so. "Thanks for everything. I-…" Her sentence was cut off as Peter raised his right hand, shaking his head.

"Any decent bloke would have done the same."

"No, most would have left me to drown my sorrows… Anyway, I should get going, my, erm… My mum's fella'll start to wonder where I am," Carla mumbled, giving him a quick wave before turning her back on him and slowly taking a couple of steps forwards. She hesitated.

"I'll see you around…" she called over her shoulder, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion as she headed off towards the flat. She felt something for this stranger. It was a hell of a lot more than just gratitude. She felt a very strong attraction towards Peter Barlow, and although she didn't quite know what this attraction entailed, she knew that, if they ever met again, she would have an awful lot of figuring out to do.

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><p>Making a cake is never an easy task. Obviously, with the so-called 'help' of a six-year-old, this task becomes practically impossible. Somehow, however, Carla had completed her mission, and was now staring furiously at the timer on the kitchen table, the gentle, innocent ticking causing her to want to throw it through the kitchen window. It was a massive understatement to say she was frustrated. Her emotions were up in the air and spinning around like a whirlwind, a whirlwind that she couldn't seem to find a way to stop. In the past few days, she'd fallen out of love with her boyfriend and met a dark, handsome stranger whom she was very much attracted to and she had absolutely no idea what to do about it. Should she dump Luke? Look up Peter's name in the Yellow Pages? Do nothing? Unsurprisingly, Carla jumped out of her skin when her inner thoughts were interrupted first by the turn of a key in the front door lock and then by Frank's stormy entrance. His eyes narrowed upon seeing her, and Carla was shocked to see that one of them was completely off-colour, framed with a deep purple bruise. He'd been punched. Hard, by the looks of it. Of course, she was mental if she thought he would share the gory details of the affair with her.<p>

"Get dressed. Something slutty, shouldn't be too hard. We're going out," Frank snapped, curtly, staring straight past her out of the open window. Carla frowned, bewildered.

"Where?"

"Never you mind."

"Haven't I got a right to know?"

"No. Now shut your trap and get a move on," Frank replied, glancing anxiously at the metal watch on his left wrist, "He'll be waiting."

"Who?"

"Do you ever stop asking questions, you nosy cow? I thought I told you to get your arse out of here?" Not daring to answer back, Carla scurried into her room and slammed the door shut behind her, throwing open the double doors of her relatively small wardrobe and examining the contents. Slutty? Why on earth did he want slutty? Being in no position to argue, Carla skimmed through her clothes until she found her usual miniskirt and a hideous low-cut crop-top that would show off more midriff and cleavage than could be considered legal in most countries. Slipping the garments on over her school clothes, Carla attempted to analyse Frank's body language. He had been nervous. Scared, even. But not angry. It was as though he was desperate for something, for her help. It was probably a deal with a major, major client. Was this client behind the black eye as well? Only time would tell, and as she pulled open her bedroom door once more, Carla hoped with all her heart that she would discover the answer to the riddle sooner rather than later.

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><p>They had been driving through the backstreets of Manchester in silence for what seemed like hours. In reality, they'd only been on the road for twenty-odd minutes, but that was twenty minutes too long for Carla. Frank shot her occasional sideways glances, his murky eyes skimming over her outfit before hastily looking away as if nothing had happened. This puzzled her; despite using her as his slave and personal punchbag, Frank had never appeared interested in her in a physical or sexual way. Why would he be? She was fifteen and hopelessly naïve, far from the ideal bit on the side of an infamous drug dealer who still had a few shreds of dignity left. As he pulled up in front of a dull, dingy-looking block of flats, Frank squinted into the darkness, tapping his fingertips nervously on the steering wheel.<p>

"Right. Get out," he ordered, nodding towards the building, "23a. First floor. When he offers you money, take it, but accept no less than ten quid. If he tells you to do something, do it. I'll know if you don't…" Furrowing her brow in confusion, Carla hopped out of the car and made her way towards the block of flats, her heels clicking on the paving slabs of the front path with each step. Reaching the front door, she searched around for a buzzer, or a doorbell, or some other kind of way in, but was surprised to find nothing. She gave the door a forceful push. It creaked open straight away, revealing dozens of stairs that led all the way up to the sixth floor, the very top of the building. Knowing better than to give her situation a second thought, Carla started up the stairs, careful to step over every syringe or used condom that she found on her way. Of one thing she was certain: this building made her own home look like Buckingham Palace. It was hard to believe that actual human beings existed in this tip. Still, she couldn't exactly judge. If one of her school friends was to see her flat, they would pass out with shock. It wasn't exactly the perfect home of the neutral family that most of them were lucky enough to have. Carla breathed a sigh of relief as she eventually found herself outside the disgustingly filthy front door of 23a. Reluctantly, she knocked twice before rubbing her dirtied knuckles on her skirt. Almost instantly, the door was wrenched open, and Carla was tugged inside and wrapped in a tight embrace, horrified as a pair of oversized, fierce lips were forced against hers.

"What the fuck?" she cried, shoving the occupant of the flat off of her, who she was then able to see was a redheaded, middle-aged scumbag dressed in a shirt that was five sizes too small and a pair of knee-length shorts, despite the icy winter weather outside. The tightness of the shorts did him no favours, his reaction to the 'friendly' introduction suddenly very evident. He took a step back, showing absolutely no signs of remorse.

"Frank hasn't told you, has he? I'm John, John Simpson. I'll pay you well, darling, don't you worry…" the oaf said, giving her a creepy wink.

"For what…?" Carla asked, timidly. John nodded towards a door, and Carla suddenly realised what it was that she would be expected to do. The room contained a bed. Nothing else, just an unmade, grimy bed. She knew. She knew exactly what that night would entail. She also knew that she had no other options. One wrong move would ensure that she was punished. And so, her heart laden with terror, she nodded, and took a wary, fate-sealing step into the bedroom…


	6. Sold

**Hello :) Sorry I haven't updated lately, I've been dead busy with mock exams and rehearsals and that, it'll be the same case for the next few months until I leave school :(. And, for 'those of you' who accuse me of stealing ideas from A'B'x, that isn't the case. We've discussed this. She told me about the idea of Daddy Frank a while back, but that's the only similarity in our stories. They're heading in totally different directions.  
>Thank you for reading and reviewing, it makes my day. :) 3 <strong>

Carla's body jolted in fear as she tore her stiff, sleep-deprived eyelids open the following morning, her lashes still smothered in mascara, causing them to stick together. She anxiously glanced around the unfamiliar territory, having no idea where she was until she felt stirring beside her, recognising it as being the man she had-… It hurt her to so much as even think about. She couldn't quite come to terms with the fact that she wasn't a virgin any more. Even worse, she'd sold her precious virginity to a forty-something balding bloke in shorts and a skin-tight t-shirt, a man she'd never met nor would she ever meet again in her life. She shuddered. The memories alone were enough to make her feel nauseous. Desperately, she shuffled away from him and quickly slipped out of bed, thankful that his loud, echoing snores were enough to cover the sound of her footsteps as she speedily padded out of the bedroom. Her eyes flickered towards the pile of five pound notes on the kitchen table, with a little note beside them that spoke only three words: 'For the hooker'. Carla crept over to the table and, counting twenty pounds, pocketed the money, knowing full well that, if she returned home with nothing, she'd have to face a lot worse than what she'd endured the previous night. Silence spiralled all around her as she stared at the simple, smudged message. 'For the hooker'. 'For the hooker'. 'Hooker'. That vile, disgusting word was now her permanent label. It was what she was. Though nobody besides herself, John Simpson and Frank knew of her vulgar antics, she was now nothing more than a filthy prostitute. A whore. The sudden creak of the bedroom floorboards jolted her out of her waking nightmare, causing her to spin around in horror and wait for a second indication that her client was awake. A deep, smoke-fuelled cough was the only confirmation she needed. Grabbing her bag, jacket and shoes from the hallway, Carla bolted out of the front door and down the stairway of the syringe-filled block of flats. In fact, she didn't stop running until she ran directly into the strong, muscular arms of her knight in shining armour.

"Hello, you. What a nice sight to see first thing in the morning." Peter grinned, though the corners of his lips fell into a frown as he noticed her red, bloodshot eyes and blotchy cheeks, "What's wrong…?" he asked, his hands firmly holding her shoulders to prevent her from darting away again.

"It's nothing…" Carla mumbled in reply, her heart racing as she glanced over her shoulder, terrified that her client was stalking after her, "I'm just late for school…" Peter, however, was having absolutely none of it.

"That's a load of bull. Come on, why don't you come with me, 'ey? You look like you could do with a decent cup of tea and a chinwag…"

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><p>Carla was determined to remain mute for as long as she possibly could. She watched with complete disinterest as Peter slowly poured a trickle of boiling water into the two mugs in front of them, one of which featured the Manchester City logo, the other having 'Daddy' emblazoned across the front in bright, bold lettering.<p>

"Not mine," Peter explained, seeming to telepathically guess her next question, "I nicked it from my old man when I moved out." His explanation was met by silence and a vacant expression. "Carla, tell me what's going on. I know we've only met once before, but… I might be able to help you…" Carla took a deep breath, staring deep into Peter's dark brown eyes and seeing nothing but trust and concern until she reached his core.

"Where do I start?"

"The beginning is often helpful…"

"Okay… Well, my stepdad, he… He brought me here late last night…" Carla began, glancing down at her hands in her lap as if her twisted story were written upon them. Peter simply nodded.

"Go on…"

"He sent me up to one of the flats… John Simpson. Do you know him?" Peter nodded once again, his expression turning grim.

"Yeah. Unfortunately."

"Well… Peter, this stays between you and me, okay? Promise me…"

"On my life."

"John Simpson, he… he took me into his room and he… made me sleep with him…"

"What?" Peter exclaimed, his eyes bulging with shock at her words, "He _made_ you? He forced you into it?"

"No, not… Not as such. I just didn't have a choice. He paid me for it and… Peter, you don't know what it's like living with Frank. It's hell. He isn't just a bloke with a past history of plain old domestic violence. He's raped his ex-girlfriends. He's raped them, he's beaten them to a pulp and I'm pretty sure he's capable of murder on top of it. There was no other option. I was frightened, I knew he'd find out if I didn't do what I was told, and I'm already in his bad books…" Carla trailed off as Peter shoved his chair back with a screech across the kitchen floor and made for the door of his flat, grabbing his leather jacket as he passed.

"Where is the bastard? I'll kill him…"

"No!" Carla cried, jumping up from her seat and chasing after him as he swung the front door open and stormed outside, clinging onto his jacket as a desperate attempt to hold him back, "If he finds out I've told people, he'll kill me, no exaggeration!"

"Well, what do you expect me to do? I want to help you!" Peter replied, sighing in exasperation as he was brought to a halt, "He's only going to do it again and again and again."

"Yeah, but this time, I know what's coming. This time, I can get away, I just need to find a way of getting the money so it looks like I'm being a good little slut and doing my job…" Carla murmured, nervously fingering the hem of her skirt, shuddering in disgust as she remembered whose sausage-like fingers had toyed with it last. Peter pondered for a brief moment, cogs turning in his head in his determination to save the life of his damsel in distress.

"Come to me…" He whispered, his voice so soft that it was barely audible, "Every night, instead of going to the pit of some middle-aged, perverted twat, come to my flat. I'll give you the money you need and… Frank will never know any different…"

"I can't make you do that for me. What would you be getting in return?"

"The knowledge that you were safe. That's plenty enough."

"Why are you doing this for me…?" Carla asked, her cheeks flushing a soft, ironically innocent shade of scarlet at his words.

"Because I like you," Peter responded, shooting her a faint smile, "You're a sweet kid. A sweet kid who, if she doesn't get a move on, is going to be late for school. Your personal taxi awaits." He waved his arm towards his small, relatively clean car, a place a damnsight more welcoming than the idea of returning home was to Carla.

"Thanks… I'll text my mate, get her to bring some spare uniform in with her…" mumbled Carla, her words laced with gratitude as she flashed Peter a half-hearted, relieved smile, the both of them sliding into the passenger and driver's seats of the car respectively. Peter shook his head in amazement as Carla quickly turned to her phone screen, astounded that a girl of so young from such a troubled background could deal with the kind of horrors that she'd had to face alone over the past twenty-four hours. Thankfully, loneliness was one nightmare that she would no longer have to cope with.


	7. Battleground

**Hello :). I know it's been a while, but I've been scarily busy, I've spent the last week in a Shakespeare play so I haven't got round to updating. The next few months are going to be mental. It's exam season, so replies will be as and when for a while :(. Thank you sooooo much for the lovely reviews, it means a ridiculous amount to me! 3**

"Come on then. Spill," Suzie ordered, folding her arms across her chest as she pressed her back up against the wall of the girls' toilets, talking to a closed stall door,

"Where were you last night?"

"I was… Out…" Carla replied, slipping Suzie's tartan school skirt up over her hips with ease, frustrated that it was at least a size too big and hung off of her deer-like frame, "I stayed round a mate's."

"It was a lad, wasn't it?"

"No…"

"Don't lie to me, Carla. I'm not stupid. Who was it? I bet it was Michelle's big brother, wasn't it? Paul?" Suzie continued, her eyes widening at the idea of her best friend tumbling into bed with a man so much older than herself, "He knows it's illegal! I mean, her brother Liam, it'd be illegal for you to screw him, too, but he probably wouldn't have realised because he's got less brains than Sharon Osbourne's chihuahua. In fact, he's probably got even less brains than Sharon Osbourne."

"Suze, you're babbling…" Carla sighed, fastening Suzie's blouse over the delicate red lace pattern of her bra, deciding if best to neither admit nor deny what she was being accused of.

"Oh. My. God. You fucked Paul Connor, didn't you? I knew he were after you!"

"No! No, it wasn't Paul…"

"Shit… You did fuck someone…" Suzie whispered, frozen in shock, "You lost it! Carla, how could you do that to Luke?" Carla didn't answer. She stood, frozen, in front of the wall of the cubical, her finger delicately tracing along line after line of colourful graffiti. _Sophie was ere '89. Alex Hanson is peng. CO'B 4 LS. I 3 LS. Carla luvs Luke 1990. _She sighed, the realisation that one regretful night had spelled the end of five years of history together suddenly smacking her hard in the face. On the other side of the door, Suzie had begun to pace up and down across the tiled flooring of the loos, somewhat furious at her so-called 'friend's actions. She liked Luke; she'd known him for a very, very long time, and she hated the idea of him getting hurt.

"Carla? Are you fucking listening to me?" she exclaimed, just as the door of the cubicle creaked open and she came face-to-face with the scarlet-eyed, blotchy-cheeked shell of her former best friend.

"Yeah, I'm listening. What do you want me to say? My bad, it won't happen again?" Carla sighed, heavily, ripping a paper towel from the dispenser and creasing it in her fist. There was no way, no way whatsoever, that she could tell anyone the truth.

"I don't know what the hell's wrong with you…" Suzie muttered, studying her friend in concern, "You're so different to the old Carla."

"I've grown up." Carla stared down at the paper towel in her hand, which she had begun to tear into tiny, jagged pieces, a few of which were now scattered across the tiles beneath her feet. "I'm not interested in playing kids' games any more."

"You're not interested in your mates either, are you? You haven't been there for Michelle at all. She's going through shit, Carla!"

"What're you talking about?"

"You don't even know? She's fucking pregnant! Three months. Dean's. Her brothers keep threatening to kill him, and don't even get me started on what her mum's been saying. Jesus, Carla. You really have been a selfish bitch lately, haven't you?" Suzie retorted, narrowing her eyes at the shadow of the one girl she had always thought she could rely on.

"I can't help it if no one bothered to tell me! I'm going to find Luke," Carla snapped, shoving past Suzie and lunging for the door, storming out of the loos and into the corridor.

"Fine! But don't expect any of us to give a shit when you're the one with a problem!" Suzie sneered, furiously following her former friend outside.

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><p>Spying the muscular figure of her on-off boyfriend across the hall, Carla shoved her way through the crowd, still livid from her judgemental conversation with Suzie.<p>

"Luke? We need a chat," she said as she reached him, lightly placing a hand on his upper arm.

"Go on then, babe. Shoot."

"Not… Not here…"

"Why not? Here's as good as anywhere else…" Luke replied, his face falling in utter confusion. Carla sighed, before taking a long, deep breath.

"It's over, Luke…" she whispered, her voice quivering as, in a split second, she ended an era, "I'm sorry. I just can't do it any more…" For a brief moment, Carla thought that Luke had completely tuned her out. He was frozen. His eyes instantly glazed over and, if she didn't know any better, Carla would have sworn that the little light usually situated behind his pupils had gone out.

"You what…?" he uttered in reply, his voice barely more than an insignificant whisper. Carla glanced around at the chaos of the school hall that had hosted so many memories. The canteen, where he'd bought her lunch on numerous occasions when her mum had been too off her head to leave her lunch money on the kitchen table. The water fountain, where they had had their first proper conversation. The staircase, where they had shared their first kiss. And finally, the vending machine, where they were, at that moment, about to break up for the final time. She furiously shook her head, tears immediately springing to her tired, bruise-framed eyes. She couldn't stay with him, not now. She was a hooker, a prostitute, a whore. She felt dirty. Tainted. It wouldn't be fair on him in the slightest.

"I'm sorry…" she breathed, giving him a small, forced, apologetic smile before reluctantly tearing her eyes from his and pushing back through the crowds of shadows, feeling envious that none of them had yet to experience the searing pain that she was feeling at that moment. The feeling of guilt. Suddenly, she knew she needed to escape the battleground. And, desperate to get away from the babbling mass of human voices, she disappeared into a nearby classroom, threw herself against the closed door and sobbed.


	8. Poison

**This chapter is officially the worst so far, it's aaaall speech, so sorry in advance! I just wanted to get one out to you before my exams properly start, so it's very rushed. :(**

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><p>That afternoon, Carla's walk home from school was so slow and reluctant that it took her best part of an hour. She'd spent the whole day as an outcast, every single person she knew, her best friends included, having sided with Luke. If looks could kill, she'd have died a thousand times. Home wouldn't be much better. It was pretty much guaranteed that her mother would still be AWOL, and that Frank would probably shut Darren in his room and wait for her, livid that she'd stretched a half-hour journey to last twice as long. Valuable time, in his eyes, when she could be out earning him cold, hard dosh. In fact, Carla wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been using Darren as his delivery boy all afternoon. The poor little lad would have been thrilled to run 'errands' for his beloved 'Uncle Frank'. Carla was the only one in the family who could see past the façade. She'd had the misfortune of seeing his true colours, his wild streak, his dark side. Grudgingly, she shoved her tattered door key into the rusting lock and twisted it, before pushing down on the handle, giving the door a hard thump with the side of her foot and forcing it open. At once, Frank glanced up from his newspaper and viciously narrowed his eyes at the girl who he blamed for intruding on his peace.<p>

"Where've you been?"

"School."

"Stop being a smart aleck and answer me properly. Where have you been?"

"Er… Coming home from school?" In a flash, Frank had launched from his seat and soon had Carla tightly by the wavy strands of her long, dark hair. He thrashed her up against the wall, pinning her against it by her delicate shoulders.

"ANSWER ME!" he roared, a couple of droplets of saliva spraying from his mouth and infecting her skin like some kind of poison. Carla trembled, her heart thumping like a set of angry drums, pelting against her ribcage.

"They kept me behind. I was late this morning…" Frank continued to glare at her before releasing his grip and throwing her to the floor. He stormed over to the living room window and brushed his thumb across the dirt-smeared glass.

"How much did you earn? Last night, I mean? It'd better have been shitloads, Carla…"

"Twenty."

"Twenty? How shit were you?"

"I just took what he left on the table!" Carla cried, scrambling to her feet and scurrying close to her bedroom door. The room was filled with an eerie silence for a moment. Neither of them uttered a word. Carla watched him in curiosity for what seemed like ten minutes before he sharply span around to face her.

"Tonight…" he hissed, his eyes blazing as he started to move towards her, "Tonight, you'll go to Ian Bradley's house. His wife and kids have done a runner to Italy and he is gagging for it. You'll get fifty quid minimum and you won't leave without it. Do you understand me?" He hesitated, before grabbing her by the forearm, holding her so tightly that he knew he'd leave a prominent mark on her skin, "I said, do you understand me?" Carla nodded frantically, her eyes fear-filled.

"Y..Yes…"

"Good," Frank snapped, releasing her and moving back over to the sofa, collapsing down into the muddy, powder-stained cushions of the sofa, "Now piss off. I'll call you when you're needed." Carla could do nothing but shrink into the shadows.

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><p>"So, let me get this straight. He said you had to get at least fifty quid, or else?" Peter murmured, taking a seat beside her on the sofa in his living room. Carla nodded.<p>

"Pretty much." As soon as Frank had dropped her off that night, Carla had made her own way over to Peter's flat, as planned. She'd been hastily filling him in on the day's events, hoping he'd know exactly what to do. He always seemed to. He was like her knight in shining armour, and boy, did she need saving today.

"Hang on…" he said, getting to his feet once again and striding through to the kitchen. He returned only moments later, his large, leather wallet in hand.

"You don't have to…" Carla sighed, her cheeks flushing at the sheer idea of having to take Peter's money for free. Despite her words, he handed her two twenty pound notes and a screwed up tenner before smiling sheepishly.

"What can I say? I'm a gent. Besides, I worry what he'd do to you. You're only fifteen…"

"Yeah, alright. No need to say it out loud. I'm an underage slut."

"You know damn well that that wasn't what I meant…" Peter replied, resuming his original position beside her.

"Well… Thanks…" Carla mumbled, quickly stuffing the money down her bra and out of sight, thinking that if it wasn't visible, then it wasn't really there, "Can we change the subject, please? I don't really want to talk about this…"

"Alright... What's your favourite colour?"

"Red."

"Animal?"

"Lion."

"Mineral?"

"Diamond."

"Okay, your turn."

"Is there really any point in this?" Carla asked, kinking an eyebrow in amusement. Peter nodded.

"Yes. We're getting to know each other. Carry on."

"Er… Favourite sport?"

"Footie, obviously."

"Celebrity?"

"Cheryl Cole."

"Typical. All blokes think she's the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Don't be daft. The most beautiful woman in the world is sitting right in front of me," Peter continued, without even thinking. The pair glanced swiftly into each other's eyes before directing their line of vision down to the carpet beneath their feet, embarrassed, neither knowing what to say. Carla was well aware that her obvious attraction for him was growing by the minute, despite the fact that they were engulfed in silence until Peter loudly cleared his throat, piercing through the intense sexual tension in the atmosphere.

"Want another cuppa?" he asked, looking up to reveal his crimson cheeks. He smiled, not waiting for a response from her before heaving himself to his feet and wandering through to the kitchen once more, leaving Carla to revel in his compliments.


	9. Something Stupid

**It's finally here! Thank you so much for the reviews, everyone! In response to the suggestion that I make my updates longer, I would personally rather update with about 1,000 words rather than make you all wait months for long updates. Sorry for any inconvenience. And a massive thank you to Leah (madaboutcarla), who saved me from my writer's block! Big hugs! :)**

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><p>Hours passed far quicker than they usually did. Carla was curled up on Peter's beige leather sofa with a sneaky glass of red wine, cackling away at a joke that Peter had just made. The pair were getting along like clockwork, as if they had known each other for years. For once, she felt entirely comfortable in her own flawless skin. She knew that Peter wasn't judging her; he saw through her cheap clothes and strong working-class accent. Nobody had ever treated her like a princess before. Despite the stimulating conversation, she yawned, before shooting him an apologetic smile.<p>

"Sorry. I'm shattered. I barely slept last night, what with-..." she trailed off, knowing that there was no need whatsoever to elaborate. Peter nodded, sympathetically.

"Go to bed. You can have my room, I'll kip on the sofa."

"No, no! You've done too much for me already, I'll be fine out here."

"I insist. It's the least I can do," he replied, taking her hand and beginning to lead her towards his bedroom door, "Go on. My bed's dead comfortable."

"... Why don't you come with me?" Carla suggested, her cheeks turning crimson despite the innocent meaning to her idea, "I mean, we'd both be comfortable, then. It doesn't mean anything's happened between us..." Peter smiled, his heart practically leaping out of his chest as he tried to appear unaffected emotionally by Carla's suggestion.

"Perfect..." he murmured, his voice silky and seductive. He couldn't help but feel attracted to this girl. She was pretty, charming, intelligent, funny... And what man wouldn't love playing the hero?

"Great... Hey, can you take this off for me?" Carla asked, subconsciously fingering the golden pendant of her necklace that contained photographs of her brother and late grandmother, "I don't like to sleep with it on, in case it snaps during the night..." She turned around and pinned her hair up using her hand to make Peter's job easier.

"Sure..." Carla couldn't help but give a little shiver as she felt Peter's thumb brush over the nape of her neck, each and every invisible hair on standing on end. Naturally, she felt it best to masquerade the effect that his touch had on her.

"It's cold in here..." she muttered, her front teeth nervously sinking into her plump lower lip.

"I'll lend you my hoodie. It'll be huge on you, but that'll make it look even cuter," Peter replied as he triumphantly snapped the locket off,

"There you go." As Carla held out the palm of her hand, the next few moments seemed to move entirely in slow motion. Peter dropped the light, gold chain into the centre of her hand, his eyes fixed on hers. Carla was frozen, rigid, unable to move her hand away from his. A beautiful silence filled the room, only the soft sound of the radio audible.

_'And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like 'I love you'...'_

Carla gulped, taking a deep breath before whispering, "Shall we get to bed then?" Peter nodded, licking his suddenly dry lips.

"Indeed we shall, princess..."

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><p>"Stupid bitch..." Frank muttered, smirking wickedly as the light blaring out from the computer screen illuminated his features. His eyes skimmed over the text in front of him. Carla's Facebook page, Carla's email account, everything that she had left signed in during her rush to escape Frank's watchful stare. He clicked into her inboxes, where one name in particular seemed to frequent. Peter Barlow.<p>

"Peter Barlow...?" he questioned to himself, his eyebrows furrowing in puzzlement. He'd never heard that name before. He'd often 'overheard' Carla's numerous phone calls to her friends at school, or had prised information out of Darren. Yes. He knew all about Luke Strong, her oaf of a boyfriend whom she had spent the last five years attempting to tame. He could recognise Suzie and Michelle by face, having watched Carla on the way home from school a few times. Pretty girls, they were. And yet, the name 'Peter Barlow' had never cropped up in conversation. He didn't recognise him from his pictures, either. His eyes narrowed as he read over the contents of Carla's latest message to her new friend.  
><em>'Thank you. Tonight. Eight. See you there.'<em>

"Well, well, well..." Frank sighed, shaking his head in astonishment, "Silly little slut almost had me fooled, there..." He pressed 'print' and waited, catching the documents as they filed out of the machine. He folded each one and slid them in his pocket, bar one. He left the other underneath a pile of letters on the kitchen table, disguised as a measly bill or angry letter from a client or the bank, knowing that, by that time tomorrow, Carla would have checked the post and be scared out of her wit. Suddenly, a door opened, and Frank's head reared in alarm. Young Darren was stood in his bedroom doorway, rubbing furiously at his tired eyes. Quicky, Frank closed down the webpage and, eventually, the computer.

"What do you want?"

"I can't sleep... What are you doing?" Darren asked, his eyes instantly wide, having recognised his sister's Facebook page, "Where's Carla?"

"None of your business," Frank snapped, leaping to his feet and approaching the child, intimidatingly, "Go back to bed, scamp."

"But... But I want to know where my sister is."

"No."

"Tell me! What have you done with my sister?"

"She's at one of her poxy mate's houses, alright?" Darren nodded quickly, his eyes filling with tears as he shrank back into his bedroom, terrified of the ogre in front of him. As Darren's door slammed shut, Frank chuckled to himself. He was powerful, and boy, did he know it. Now all he had to do was prove to his tart of a stepdaughter just how powerful he could really be.


	10. Perfect

**I know, I know, I only updated on Sunday, but I've been pressured into updating again! :P. So if you've yet to read Sunday's update, please don't forget to!**  
><strong>I've noticed that some people have put this on Story Alert but haven't reviewed - whilst I am very grateful and love you for reading, reviews really help me to improve and a comment such as 'I love Peter and Carla's sexual tension' might tempt me to include more of what you lot want in later chapters. And a past comment suggested that I focus more on description, so I've tried to in this chapter! After all, it's all about what the reader wants, so please review!<strong>

**Thank you all! :D**

**Chlo x**

**PS. Yes, I've changed my Pen Name. :P**

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><p>Each day became routine for Carla; get up; go to school; come home; look after Darren; go to Peter's; go to bed. The idea of seeing Peter, of having some time to be herself and not have to act as a responsible adult, made her days seem that much brighter. In fact, her days had become so routine that on the morning of the third of January, she awoke feeling no different to usual. That was, of course, until Darren had bounded into her room and cannon bombed onto her bed, singing 'Happy Birthday' at the top of his voice. She was sixteen. Having kept the occasion on the low-down as she didn't want to attract a lot of attention, she returned home from school that afternoon having received three birthday cards from her brother, Michelle and a disgruntled Suzie, who had decided to make an exception and acknowledge her existence for one day only. Carla had an evident spring in her step, mainly because she knew that Frank was on 'business' in London and Darren would be at his friend's house for at least another three hours. Peace and quiet. Unfortunately, just as she flopped onto the sofa, the shrill ringing of the doorbell sounded. Groaning, Carla shuffled over to the door and unclipped the latch, twisting the stiff, rusty handle and heaving the door open. She was delighted yet surprised to find Peter leant against the doorframe, a smouldering smile plastered across his face.<p>

"Hi," he murmured, taking a small step towards her and revealing her plain black cardigan from behind his back, draping it over her bare shoulders, "You left this at mine last night. I saw Frank's car wasn't here and decided to pop it in."

"Thanks..." Carla whispered, her breath hitching in her throat at the light touch of his fingertips, her skin goosebumping, "Do you want a cuppa?" Peter nodded eagerly. He leant against the front to close it as Carla made her way through to the kitchen, glancing around the flat in astonishment. There was nothing to suggest that two children lived there, besides a toy train track in the corner of the room. The DVD rack contained nothing but X-rated films, the floor was littered with Frank's clothing, and the only picture on the mantlepiece consisted of Frank and some other blokes in tracksuits out at a pub. Peter gulped as he spotted a drug canister beside the sofa, deciding not to let on to Carla and instead kicking it underneath the sofa with the toe of his trainer, making a mental note to dispose of it later. It was then that he noticed the three cards lined up along the windowsill, each decorated with pink patterns and teddy bears. He frowned.

"Hey... When was your birthday?" he asked as Carla carefully carried two steaming mugs of tea into the living room, placing them down on the stained coffee table.

"Today," she replied, nonchalantly, "I didn't think it were that important."

"Well, in that case, I'd better give you a present."

"You really don't have to..."

"No, I want to," Peter insisted, placing his warm hands behind his neck and unclipping the chain that was permanently fastened around it. For the first time, Carla could see that a delicately engraved gold bangle hung from it, usually hidden beneath his t-shirt. He slid the bangle off of the chain and into the palm of his hand, admiring it fondly. "It was my mum's. She died when I was four. She gave one bangle to me and one to my sister, Susan, when we were little."

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a very long time ago... Here. Hold out your wrist," he instructed, bringing the jewellery to his lips and pressing a soft parting kiss against it. Carla frantically shook her head, her eyes wide.

"No... No, Peter, it's your mum's, I... I can't."

"Do it for me. Please. I want you to have it. You have this and I'll keep the chain. That way, we'll always have a part of each other. I know it's dead cheesy, but... I like it..." Peter mumbled, a red tinge appearing in his cheeks as he held out the bangle. Reluctantly, Carla streched out her wrist, allowing him to slide the bracelet onto it. It felt elegant and precious against her tanned skin. Peter then lifted her hand, placing a gentle, affectionate kiss against the first joints of her fingers, then the second, then across her knucklebone. He glanced up into her glistening green eyes, noticing that that were dark with longing, that her lower lip trembled with excitement. Her lips. Her lips looked soft, kissable, perfect. As he entwined their fingers and slowly started to draw in closer, Carla felt as though her heart was about to leap out of her chest.

"Happy birthday, princess..." he whispered, his breath pleasantly warm against her moist lips, tickling her skin. Checking first that she was happy with his actions, Peter moved his hand behind the back of her head and ever-so-softly brushed his lips against hers. He drew back slightly, wanting to be a hundred percent sure that she felt safe with him, before touching his lips to hers once again, tangling his fingers in her hair. Carla felt as though she was melting. No kiss had ever felt as magical as this before. Her heart pounded wildly as her free hand fell to his hip, her fingers moving just under his leather jacter and faded grey t-shirt and brushing against his sizzling hot skin. Peter traced the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, gently prising them open in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Together, they moved backwards. Backwards. Backwards, not stopping until Carla's back hit her bedroom door. Not needing his approval, she twisted the handle of the bedroom door and stumbled inside. The pair fell to the bed, both completely unable to control the lion of lust that had been building up inside them for a very long time.

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><p>Carla curled up beside him, resting her ear against his bare chest, her fingers tracing over the muscular patterns that formed when he breathed in and out. The silence wasn't awkward in the slightest; it was filled with romance, as both appreciated each other's bodies. Peter circled his finger across her thigh, occasionally teasing her by allowing it to roam a little further upwards.<p>

"I've got to pick my brother up soon..." Carla sighed, though no part of her wanted the moment to end.

"What time's Frank coming home?"

"He's not. He's in London overnight... Stay..." she murmured, "Stay here tonight. Please. Darren won't tell a soul, I just... I want to be with you..." Peter nodded, dropping a featherlight kiss to the crown of her head.

"For you, baby, anything..."


	11. Pure

**Hi, guys. Okay. Please don't judge me, I was forced into this. I liked my last update and the way I kept it innocent, like it would be in Corrie, but I promised that I'd include a bit of mild smut in one of my updates. So here it is! It's nothing hardcore, but I've put it in italics so, if you don't want to read it, just skip over it. You don't lose the plot, I promise. So, yeah. Apologies in advance! Please don't stop reading because of it, the rest of the story will be T-rated. :(**

**Chlo x**

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><p>A dagger of sunlight pierced into the room through the open slit in the curtains of Carla's bedroom. Daybreak was beautiful. Birds chirped merrily as they went about their daily tasks, and a very much loved-up Carla and Peter were cuddled together underneath Carla's duvet, their faces fresh with the early morning light. Carla stirred, giving a little sigh as her eyelids fluttered open to reveal her gentle green eyes which stared straight into Peter's, which hadd been watching her sleep for quite some time. She smiled happily, her heart skipping a beat as she recalled the passionate events of the night before.<p>

"Morning, handsome…" she whispered, her body stiffening as she felt the warmth of his hand creeping slowly up the inside of her thigh.

"Good morning, beautiful…" he murmured huskily in response, returning her smile with a bemused one of his own as he watched her sudden reaction, "No regrets?"

_"None," Carla replied, shortly, biting down forcefully on her lower lip to prevent herself from screaming and begging for him to please her._

_"That's what I like to hear…" he continued, pressing a delicate, loving kiss to her forehead as he pushed the tip of his finger against her, sliding it inside and curving it slightly so as to instantly hit one of her major sensitive spots, "Isn't this the perfect way to wake up of a morning?" Carla nodded, a small, longing whimper passing her lips at the thrilling sensation that coursed through her. Peter took his other hand and flattened it against her abdomen, sliding it all the way down her until his middle finger touched the small bundle of nerves designed specifically to send immediate electric pulses through her entire body. Carla squirmed, her hips thrusting desirously against his hand, the freshness of the morning only heightening her sensitivity. He began to circle his finger against the little yet powerful bud, weakening her._

_"Steady…" Carla groaned as she felt the blissful tingling of pleasure building up inside her stomach, her thrusts becoming fiercer and fiercer as she longed to be tipped into climax, "I… I really want to… to…" Peter leant his body forward and, for a moment, withdrew his finger from inside her, instead touching it to her lips._

"Shh… Relax. Don't hold back…" Peter continued his actions in the peaceful silence for a moment before they were cruelly interrupted by the sharp slamming of the front door.

"Shit!" Carla exclaimed, automatically springing up from the bed and staring at her bedroom door in horror, "He's home!" Frantically, she grabbed a towel from her radiator and threw it onto Peter's lap before slipping her fluffy, white dressing gown off of the hook on the back of her bedroom door and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Wrap that around you, quickly. If he asks, you're a client." With that, she scurried out of the bedroom, leaving Peter utterly lost for words. Out in the living room, Frank had dumped his bag on the kitchen table, overspilling with little brown paper bags of god knows what, and was now perched on the edge of the sofa, staring down at his spotless leather shoes. He glanced up at Carla as she made her entrance and narrowed his eyes into furious slits.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Don't speak to me like that, Frank, I'm not your little ragdoll."

"I asked you a question. You could at least do me the courtesy of answering it. You're meant to be working." Having been known for a number of years for his inappropriate timing, Peter naturally chose that exact moment to step through the door of Carla's bedroom, with nothing but the small towel wrapped tightly around his waist, concealing his obvious arousal, the effects of his and Carla's bedroom antics.

"Who the fuck is that?" Frank roared, his face burning with intense anger as he realised that he had been disobeyed. Carla held up her hands, showing her palms.

"It's not what you think. He's a client…" she explained, "We decided to do the deed here because he lives with his parents…" Frank was eerily silent for a moment, running his eyes over Peter, suspiciously. He was sure he recognised him from somewhere.

"Fair enough. Cough up then, so you can get your arse out of here and leave me the fuck alone," he snapped, stepping closer to Peter and folding his arms across his chest, staring him down. Reluctantly, Peter pulled two creased ten pound notes from the side pocket of his leather jacket which was spread across the arm of the sofa and placed them on the kitchen table. Frank, however, didn't budge. With an irritated sigh, Peter revealed another three ten pound notes from his pocket and placed them atop the others.

"Happy?" he asked, before thumping his sharp elbow into Frank's chest and forcing him out of the way. As Frank keeled over in intense pain, Peter took Carla's now tear-stained cheeks between his warm, comforting, sturdy hands and pressed a gentle kiss to her trembling lips.

"You paid me for sex…" Carla whispered, her heart sinking at the thought of what had just happened. That the previous night hadn't been pure, emotion-filled love-making. She'd still been working, been getting dough for Frank. Peter shook his head, touching his lips to hers again in a reassuring manner.

"You can pay me back, okay? I promise…" he murmured, fighting against his longing to hold her and protect her forever, knowing deep down that if Frank saw them together, Carla's life wouldn't be worth living. Shooting one last furious glance at Frank, Peter disappeared back into the bedroom to change and, once he was safely out of earshot, Frank turned on Carla, clearly seething.

"What the hell's going on? You really are nothing but a fucking tramp, Carla."

"What's going on? You. You're what's going on. I'm going to check on Daz," Carla muttered through gritted teeth, fixing her eyes firmly on the floor as she scampered through to Darren's bedroom and closed the door firmly behind her, only then allowing herself to lose composure and cry silent tears.


	12. Beautiful

**Thank you for reading, reviewing and the rest. This chapter is a filler. The end is near...**

**For everybody who has enjoyed this fic thus far; thank you.**

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><p><em>Prostitute. Hooker. Whore. Even Peter doesn't like you. He paid for you. <em>Carla groaned, her head dropping forward and resting on her crossed arms, which were atop the wooden school desk.

"Miss O'Brien," snapped Mrs Danson, the menopausal Maths teacher, "Are you paying attention?" _Whore. _"Miss O'Brien?" _Hooker. _"I'm talking to you!" _Leave me alone._ "Carla O'Brien, answer me when I ask you a question!" Carla sighed, pushing her chair back, which filled the room with an ear-piercingly painful screech, and grabbing her bag from the floor. Without uttering a word, she swung her bag over her shoulder and walked straight out of the classroom door, ignoring the indignant cries of Mrs Danson and the shocked gasps and mutterings of her peers. Once outside, she pressed her back against the graffiti-smothered walk and sunk to the floor, giving a heartfelt sob as the backs of her legs hit the cold, slightly damp concrete beneath her. She remained in silence, her breaths heavy, her tears coming thick and fast for what seemed like a number of minutes but, realistically, was only a matter of seconds. A shadow fell over her shivering body. She glanced up in surprise, rubbing at her red, panda-like eyes and blinking multiple times.

"What do you want?" she croaked, a lump forming in her throat at the sheer idea of merciless teasing or arguing.

"Hey. That's no way to speak to your best mate," came Suzie's unusually soothing reply as she moved to sit beside her, staring straight ahead at the surprisingly still school buildings opposite them. She hesitated for a few moments before continuing, warily, "Car, what's wrong?" Carla curled up into a ball, turning her head so that she didn't have to look Suzie in the eye.

"Nothing," she murmured.

"Don't be an idiot, Carla, I know someth-… Carla? What's that on your shoulder?" Suzie questioned, worriedly pointing to the discoloured bruise on Carla's uncovered shoulder. Quickly, Carla tugged her little shirt sleeves further downwards in an attempt to hide Frank's brutal mark.

"It's nothing. Just a bruise…"

"Carla, is he hitting you…?" Suzie asked in a hushed whispered, moving onto her knees and shuffling a little closer to her friend. Lightly, she brushed her finger over the bruise, causing Carla to flinch and suck in a sharp breath through her gritted teeth.

"Leave it, Suze."

"I want to help-"

"I said leave it!" Suzie fell silent once again, her front teeth sinking into her lower lip as she thought carefully about how she was going to phrase her next sentence.

"You need to tell someone, babe…" Carla frantically shook her head, cupping her hand over the bruise, wanting to pretend that it didn't exist.

"I can't."

"If you're scared, I can come with you…"

"No, Suzie, I really, really can't, okay! You don't understand!" Carla hissed, furiously wiping a finger across her cheek as another flurry of tears escaped her eyes and cascaded down her faultless cheek, dropping onto the collar of her shirt and leaving a sorrowful stain.

"Then tell me. Let me try to understand. I don't like seeing you like this…" Suzie murmured, slipping an arm around Carla's quivering shoulders and cuddling her close, guiding her heavy head to rest against her collarbone. Carla took a deep breath, preparing herself for a horrified reaction.

"Frank hits me, yeah. He hits me, grabs my hair, cuts me, spits in my face… But he does much worse than that. He…"

Suzie nodded, encouragingly. "Go on…"

"He makes me work for him. As a p-…prostitute." Carla hesitated as Suzie gave her a gentle, supporting squeeze, unable to believe what she was hearing. "He lines me up clients and forces me to sleep with them and give the money to him. He's done something to my mum, and I don't know where she is. That night I lost my virginity, it wasn't to Paul Connor or any other lad. It was to one of Frank's forty-something mates. I earned twenty quid for it. And I can't tell anyone because they'll take Darren into care. I've seen those kids homes, Suze, I can't do that to my baby brother. He needs me…" Suzie shook her head, pulling back and placing her hands over Carla's cheeks, which were burning scarlet in humiliation.

"Carla, listen to me. You can't let him get away with this. But even if you don't want to go to the police, you don't have to go through this alone any more…" she said, her voice cracking at the realisation of the horrors that Carla had had to endure finally hit her. She felt nothing but pure guilt at turning her back on her friend during her time of need.

"I haven't been alone… Oh, god, I have to fill you in on Peter as well…"

"Come with me to reception, then, and you can tell me all about it on the way. You can't go back to class in this state." Carla nodded and, with her best friend's help, staggered to her feet. Together, the reunited pair moved in the direction of the reception area, Suzie's hand not leaving Carla's even for a brief second.

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><p>Carla stared at the carpet beneath her feet as she sat in the reception waiting area. It was green, specked with flecks of pink, black and grey. Odd colour choice for a room which was meant to draw in outsiders, not repel them. She didn't know how long she'd been there, nor how much longer she'd have to wait. She'd argued furiously with the receptionist who'd insisted they called her stepfather and had managed to persuade her that there was a much better option. Her head flicked up as the door opened and, as always, her heart rate increased rapidly as Peter stepped into the room, a deeply concerned expression plastered across his face.<p>

"Carla…" he murmured, holding out outstretched arms that Carla immediately flung herself into. Nothing felt better than his comforting embrace. With him as her protective shell, it felt as though nobody could hurt her again. Suzie shifted awkwardly in her seat and, for the first time, Peter noticed her presence. He gave her a small, subtle nod in greeting, indicating that it was fine for her to remain in the room. As Carla reluctantly moved away, he placed his gentle hands on her shoulders, looking directly into her watery eyes.

"Suzie knows everything…" Carla whispered, trying to force a pathetic smile to disguise her damaged interior, "She's been great." Peter pressed a loving kiss to her forehead before mouthing a quick 'thank you' to Suzie over Carla's head.

"Come on then, beautiful," he sighed, stroking the back of his index finger across her smooth cheek and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Let me take you back to mine. If you're up for it, I could even make up for what happened this morning…" Carla swallowed hard before collapsing into his arms again, wanting the warm, safe aura that he created. That was where she felt happiest. That was the one place that felt like home.


	13. Mascara

**Thanks millions for the reviews! I'm a tad confused though - too descriptive or not descriptive enough?  
>I hope you enjoy this, though it's quite violent and a bit eerie... Please, if you could find the time, check out my latest fic: s8293392/1/In_Fair_Weatherfield It's Liarla with a twist. :)**

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><p>'<em>Five o'clock. Two hours. Two fucking hours that little skank's had to get her arse back here. After everything I've done for her, you'd think she'd have at least a smidge of respect for me.'<em> Frank's furious thoughts pummelled his mind as he sat propped up on the weathered living room sofa, a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff vodka hanging from his thumb and forefinger, some of the contents pooling at the bottom of his shirt. He muttered a few harsh words under his breath before pushing himself up from the sofa and staggering over to the kitchen table, slamming the bottle down beside the half a dozen already empty ones and causing some of the lethal liquid to splash onto his wrist. His head shot up; he narrowed his eyes as he heard the key turning in the lock of the flat door and the booming sound of it being kicked open. Instantly, he stormed towards a sheepish looking Carla and aimed to grab her throat, missing by a couple of inches in his drunken haze and instead tugging on her long, thick hair.

"What the hell?" Carla shrieked, her skull throbbing as he forcefully pushed her up against the wall, pinning her in place by her shoulders.

"_Where_ have you been?" Frank roared, his face only millimetres from hers, causing droplets of spit to unintentionally land on her skin.

"Trying to catch up, you've made me fall behind on my work!"

"Liar."

"I'm not lying!" Frank sneered. His eyes, which had been piercing into hers, wandered downwards, boring into her skin until they reached the neckline of her school shirt. He spoke his next words as he leant in to her even further, his breath warm and poisonous against her.

"You know what I do to little girls who lie, Carla…" he whispered, tilting his head forwards ever-so-slightly and brushing his dry lips against the uncovered top of her breast. Carla was completely immobilized, terrified that one sharp movement would cause him to snap. Wickedly, Frank cackled, before grabbing her wrist and swinging her around to his other side, pushing her back against the sofa. "And after everything I've done for you, you ungrateful little bitch…"

"You're drunk…" Carla muttered, scrambling to the far side of the sofa and curling up into a little ball of fear. Suddenly, Darren's bedroom door creaked open slightly and he poked his head around it, his eyes teary and as wide as saucers.

"Don't hurt her…" he whimpered, his voice trembling as he bounded over to Carla and launched himself into her lap, nuzzling into her both to keep her safe and protect himself.

"You'd better watch yourself too, midget," snapped Frank. At his cruel words, the anger that had been building up inside Carla finally bubbled over and she pushed herself to her feet, lowering Darren down to the ground and crouching to his level.

"Sweetheart, I want you to pack a bag, okay? Go on; there's a big suitcase under my bed and you can fill it with lots of toys and clothes and books, and maybe a couple of my clothes, too. Can you do that for me?" Darren nodded obediently, scampering into his bedroom almost before she'd even had a chance to finish her sentence, eager to escape from Frank and his evil manner. Frank snorted, downing the last few drops of vodka from the bottle before stumbling to the front door, hauling his jacket over his shoulder as he passed the coat rack.

"I won't be long," he slurred, "Getting more booze." In one swift movement, he had gone. Frantically, Carla began to sift through the piles and piles letters containing bills, demands and overdrafts, a part of her still praying that one day, just one day, she would uncover a letter from her mother, apologising for her absence and promising that she would do everything she could to help them escape. That day was not today. She froze, her eyes falling to a faded, creased piece of paper that had been hidden underneath a wad of dull brown envelopes. _'Thank you. Tonight. Eight. See you there.' 'Thank you. Tonight. Eight. See you there.'_

"Oh, fuck…" Carla groaned, the realisation that Frank may be aware of everything suddenly dawning on her. She had to get out before he returned. There was no other option. "Quickly, Darren, we need to get a move on!" she called, tugging open the magnetic popper of her bag and throwing in as many schoolbooks as she could fit, along with a photograph of the two of them and their mother, in happier times. Before they had even heard the name 'Frank Foster' uttered in conversation. This was it. This was the end of their lives as they knew it.

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><p>As soon as he saw her sprinting towards him and eventually leaping into his outspread arms, a wide grin materialised on Peter's hungry lips. He delivered a series of tender kisses to her, longing to feel her lips against his, longing to feel her gorgeous smile appearing as he caressed her.<p>

"Hello, beautiful…" he murmured softly into her ear as he set her down on the floor, his arm still wrapped around her waist, his hand massaging her hip gently, "I'm glad you're here. It lets me know you're safe." Carla placed her hand on Darren's shoulder and ushered him towards Peter – he'd been watching him in awe for the past minute, instantly impressed by his strength and his kind manner.

"Peter, this is our kid, Darren. Darren, this is my friend, Peter." Darren tried to kink an eyebrow, mimicking his elder sister's habit.

"Is he your boyfriend?" he asked, critically eying Peter up and down. Peter glanced down at Carla for a brief moment and slipped his hand in hers, entwining their fingers together, confirming that he was thrilled at the suggestion.

"Yes. He is…" Carla replied, and Peter dropped his head to meet her lips with yet another sweet kiss.

"Good. He's better than Luke. Can we go inside?" Darren snatched the suitcase from Carla and began to wheel it towards the block of flats, earning a chuckle from deep inside Peter's chest.

"He's very con-" His words were interrupted by the fear-provoking rustle of leaves in the bush opposite. Carla's heartbeat became erratic as Frank's eerie formed emerged from the leaves, his face completely blank as he glided towards them, ghostlike. She felt Peter shift beside her and increased her grip on his hand.

"I'll handle this…" she insisted, standing on tip toe to give him another reassuring peck on the lips, "You go and let Darren in. I know what I'm doing, trust me." Frank reached her as Peter reluctantly trudged towards the flat, not without first shooting Frank a cold, warning stare.

"Your boyfriend doesn't like me," he pointed out, stopping a good few feet away from her. Carla laughed, her hand clasping the bangle on her wrist for good luck, bravery and the knowledge that whatever happened, her hero would come to her rescue.

"None of us like you, Frank, so fuck off and leave us alone."

"You lied to me."

"I had no choice."

"YOU LIED TO ME, YOU LITTLE SLAG!" Frank bellowed. In the blink of an eye, he'd launched himself at her deer-like frame, his fist flying through the air and coming into forceful contact with her jaw. Her scream was ear-piercing.

"Carla!" Peter yelled, dashing towards Frank as Carla tumbled to the ground, sending a much heavier punch right towards his scrawny nose. There was a loud crack, accompanied by Frank's roar of pain as splatters of blood flecked the paved streets.

"Twenty-four hours!" he boomed, hastily beginning to back away into the shadows of his previous hideout, "You've got twenty-four hours to decide! Come home, I'll let your mum back. Stay here and… Well, I'll let you work that out for yourself!" Peter flung himself down beside Carla's quivering body as Frank disappeared, throwing his faded leather jacket over her in a frantic attempt to keep her warm.

"It's okay, baby…" he whispered, carefully positioning her limp head to rest in his lap, wiping away the smudges of mascara that had stained her cheek, "Everything's going to be okay. I promise…"


	14. Bruises

**Et voila. Sorry for the slowness, I've been in Cyprus, baby! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing - it makes my day, as I've said before. I smile, even for little one-liners. So, I hope you enjoy it. It's another filler. We're quickly approaching the conclusion to Carla's story...  
>Hope you like it :)<strong>

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><p>Carla groaned, rolling over onto her other side and flinching, sucking in a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth as a sharp pain stung the entire left side of her face. Her memory of the night before was a disjointed blur; she remembered a lot of shouting, punching, blood. The blood had been her own, she was sure of it. Reaching up to brush her fingertips along the outline of her upper lip confirmed her suspicions as she felt a rugged sore – a dried cut. Images of Frank's flying fist flooded her mind, his livid expression, the harrowing sound of his voice. He'd found out. Carla jumped in fright as the bedroom door creaked open, breathing a sigh of relief as a sheepish looking Peter poked his head around the corner.<p>

"Good morning, beautiful…" he murmured, giving her a small, sympathetic smile, "I didn't know you were awake. I brought you a cup of tea, just in case…" he stepped into the room and placed the burning mug down on the bedside table before perching on the edge of the bed. Slowly, he stretched out an arm and stroked the back of his index finger across her cheek, which was smudged with black streaks. She winced once again, her jaw twinging at his touch, despite his gentleness.

"Sweetheart, where does it hurt?" Peter asked, a frown forming on his lips.

"There…" Carla mumbled, her voice pathetic and meek as she pointed to her lower jaw, which Peter could see was shadowed with bruising.

"You've got to go to the hospital and get that checked out…" Frantically, Carla shook her head, causing herself more pain.

"Peter, no. I can't. I can't explain how I got it, or who hurt me, or… Or even who you are! We'd practically be handing Darren over to Social Services!" Carla cried, each utterance sending a jolt of agony through her jaw, cheek and neck, "I can't tell a soul…" Peter pushed himself up from the bed, fighting against himself and trying to control the extreme anger bubbling up inside.

"I can't believe you're letting him do this to you!" he spat, "He's nothing but a pathetic little man who gets his kicks out of pushing young girls into bed! Carla, let me help you. Please. I can't bear to see you go back to him, it'll break my heart!"

"You heard what he said. He's going to hurt my mum."

"He wouldn't. She'll be well shot of him. If we tell the police, they can get to her before he does."

"You don't know Frank, you don't know what he's capable of!" Carla reminded him, her head spinning wildly as she forced herself to sit up straight – it seemed as though Frank had knocked her out the previous night, making her feel as though she was suffering the worst hangover imaginable.

"I know he's capable of dismantling the jaw of a sixteen-year-old girl!" Peter snapped. As soon as he noticed that her skinny frame was trembling with fear, his expression instantly softened, and he crouched down beside her bed and clasped her limp hand in his own. "I'm sorry, baby… I'm sorry. I'm just scared for you. What if he's broken your jaw, 'ey? And yeah, they'll ask about it, they'll want to know what's going on, especially if they notice any other bruises he's given you. Just let me take you. Please. I promise that I won't leave your side." Carla found that, despite her reluctance, her head was slowly beginning to nod. Deep down, she knew that she had no choice but to get somebody professional to look at her jaw. One thing, however, was certain: there was no way whatsoever that she would reveal any details of Frank or his murky business. Her life depended on her silence.

* * *

><p>The drumming of Peter's fingertips against the wooden table beside him felt like a thousand bullets shooting through Carla's skull. She was in agony, she was frightened and she was desperately trying to piece together a relatively logical story to recite if she was asked. She'd been in a fight at school with a girl who'd been spouting off about her mum to the world. Peter was her boyfriend who she'd gone crying to when she'd been hurt, and her mum and stepdad couldn't be contacted because they were in Majorca for a week. It was the perfect alibi. If they wanted the girl's name, she'd say it was Suze – she was sure she'd cover for her. After all, how many times had she had to cover for Suze when she was off fooling around with-… <em>Bang. Bang. Bang.<em>

"Peter, can you stop doing that, please?" Carla asked, her voice quivering as she tried her hardest to remain calm. Peter's hand froze mid-tap as he kinked an eyebrow.

"You're over-thinking things…" he observed, shuffling a little closer to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "All you have to do is go in there and let them examine you. Nobody is going to make you say anything you don't want to say, okay?"

"But what if I let it slip anyway? Frank will kill me…"

"You won't."

"But what if-"

"Carla, you won't mess up, okay? I believe in you…" Peter murmured, pressing a soft, adoring kiss to her temple, his warm hand resting on her thigh, "I believe that you can do it."

"They might trick me."

"They won't trick you…" he insisted, his free hand sliding under her chin and tilting her face to look at him so that he could press a kiss to her damaged lips,  
>careful to avoid any cuts or bruises, "You're so brave…"<p>

"I don't feel brave. Brave girls don't let bastards like Frank control their lives. They don't let him get away with what he's doing. And they definitely don't rely on their boyfriend to keep them strong…" Carla replied, furiously rubbing at her natural eyes as she felt salty tears well up inside them.

"Baby, I don't mind you relying on me. I want to be able to help you. I want to take the pain away and make you feel happy again."

"I am happy, when I'm with you. You're the only part of my life worth living for…" Unfortunately, their exchange of sweet nothings and the look of love in their eyes was cruelly interrupted by the opening of the clinic door, the appearance of the sweet-tempered nurse's face and the speaking of those seven fatal words:

"Carla O'Brien? We're ready for you, now…"


	15. Blue

**Thank you so much for your comments and for taking the time to R&R - I can't stress how much they mean to me and how happy I am to know that people are enjoying my writing. We're getting closer to the end, about three more chapters! :(**

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><p>Carla let out a slow, uneven breath as Dr Whittington brushed the soft pad of his thumb across the brutal bruising across the right side of her jaw, flinching in pain when he touched a particularly tender lump. Dr Whittington frowned, returning to his seat opposite Carla and glancing down to his limited patient notes; it appeared that, with the exception of a broken arm and a couple of blood tests, Carla had rarely visited the hospital. Little did he know that Carla had, in fact, suffered from several broken bones, bruises and cuts, yet had been forced to hold her tongue and suffer in silence for the most part.<p>

"Miss O'Brien, please could you explain exactly how you got these bruises?" Dr Whittington asked, looking up at his patient with kind, encouraging eyes, which instantly seemed to perfect his young, handsome-looking face. Carla, however, was not in the mood for ogling.

"I've already told her," Carla muttered, tilting her head backwards in the general direction of the door, where a young nurse was hovering, nervously twisting her thick ebony hair around her index finger, "I'm too embarrassed to say it again."

"Nurse Kingsley may be aware of the situation, but I'm not. So, I need you to tell me exactly what happened. It's alright. It's all confidential…"

"Like I said, I were standing behind the kitchen door when it opened and hit the side of my face. No biggie."

"I see. So, let me get this straight. The door was opened with such a force that it hit and damaged the right side of your face?" Dr Whittington repeated, raising a single eyebrow in a suspicious manner. Carla nodded, slowly.

"Yeah. That's right."

"So… Did this door cause the bruising to your left shoulder as well?" the doctor questioned, lifting a hand to indicate the purple mark peeking out from underneath the sleeve of Carla's top, which Carla immediately tugged down again.

"Yeah," she replied, hastily, her eyes trained to a spot on the wall behind him. Dr Whittington's expression immediately darkened.

"The door that hurt the right side of your face also hurt your left arm? Who was on the other side, Dynamo?"

"What is this, a court hearing?" Carla tried to joke, her voice hitching slightly as the palms of her hands began to grow moist with sweat, nerves shining through her confident exterior.

"We're only here to help you, Miss O'Brien…" Dr Whittington assured her, though an aura of concern was still present about his person, "By the looks of things, your jaw is badly bruised, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. If you'd like to come with me, I'll take you down to the Radiology unit where we can conduct an x-ray, just to make sure that nothing's broken…" Carla toyed with her hands as she was led from the consultancy room, her head bowed as a way of averting her eyes. She couldn't bear to look at people who would naturally point, stare and whisper at the young girl of black and blue. The abused. Meanwhile, Nurse Kingsley slipped out of the door and headed straight to the office of the senior nurse on the Accident and Emergency ward – she had a horrible instinct in the pit of her stomach that was telling her that something wasn't quite right about Carla O'Brien's situation.

* * *

><p>Bad bruising. That's all it had been. Bad, ugly-looking bruising. Carla not only felt stupid, but also irritated that she'd come so close to spilling her secret over something as minor as a bit of a bruise. Still, she thought to herself as she made her way back down to the ward with Dr Whittington following close behind, it was much better to be safe than sorry, and her sordid little secret had remained just that. Or so she'd thought. As they arrived back in the ward, her eyes fell upon the strong, muscular torso of a policeman dressed in full uniform and the slenderer body of his female counterpart. Both were propped up at the reception desk, and as soon as she'd entered, their heads had simultaneously turned to her.<p>

"Carla O'Brien?" the woman asked. Carla nodded, her mouth suddenly becoming uncomfortably dry.

"Miss O'Brien, we'd like to speak to you about the injuries that you have recently sustained. Don't worry, we're not going to make you come down to the station, Sister Keenan has kindly donated her office for our usage." Carla staggered backwards, her eyes wide with fear and misting over as she clutched at her stomach, the sheer idea of having to lie through her teeth making her feel sick to the soul.

"Where's Peter?" she demanded, a shooting pain coursing through her jaw and the side of her face at every utterance, "Where's Peter, I want to see him?!"

"We've spoken to Mr Barlow, he's on his way back now."

"I'm not going anywhere until I've spoken to him!"

"Miss O'Brien—"

"Why aren't you listening to me?! I want to speak to my boyfriend!" Carla sobbed, throwing herself back against the dirt-smudged wall, having edged back as far as possible. A flurry of tears spilled from her eyes, her entire body trembling with fear. She didn't care that she was causing scandal, or that every eye in the place was upon her. All she cared about was having Peter by her side, holding her hand. Thankfully, he burst through the ward doors right at that moment, having heard a commotion from down by the coffee machines.

"'Ey, sweetheart, come on… I'm here now…" he murmured, his voice soothing as he ran to Carla and wrapped her up in a tight, protective embrace, scattering her hair with kisses, "I'm here, there's no need to be scared…"

"You spoke to the police? What did you tell them?"

"Nothing you wouldn't have wanted me to, okay? I promise…"

"I don't want to speak to them…" Carla whimpered, sniffing as she buried her face in his shoulder, leaving a damp patch against his grey t-shirt. Peter took a step backwards, his hands placed firmly over her shaking shoulders, and he bent down to her level so that he could look her directly in the eyes.

"Baby, you have to. But I'm going to be so, so proud of you. Do you think you can be brave for me?" There was a pause before Carla gave a little nod, breaking down into another flood of sobs and tears as he ushered her into his arms once again. "That's my girl…" he whispered, his own voice laced with distress, "That's my girl…"


	16. Toxic

**As always, review make my heart melt. This chapter is ridiculously long because I know some people have mentioned liking longer chapters - what do you think, longer or shorter? Also, I'll let you know in advance that the second paragraph is quite smutty. I'll put the 'M' bits in italics once again, but I'd really appreciate some comments on it - although it doesn't get very far, it's the first bit of smut that I've ever published, so niceness and improvements are very much appreciated. Sorry for the longness, but I'm going away on Saturday so I hope this makes up for it! x**

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><p>Carla nibbled on the hard skin around the edges of her fingernails as she listened nervously to the threatening ticking time bomb of the clock on the wall. Every passing second took her closer to her deadline, to her mother's deadline. She fixed her eyes on those of the male police officer opposite her, and she instantly lost herself within their darkness. 1303. The number on his oversized jacket stole any identity that he'd once had, and Carla could empathise; when she was working on the street, she was nothing but a sex toy to her clients. She may as well have been one of many in a catalogue, with her likes, dislikes and vital statistics written alongside a distasteful photograph. Prostitute 1275. Sixteen, 5"5, brown hair, green eyes, size eight. That was about all the sleazebags she'd screwed had ever seemed to care about, Luke included. Finally, the police officer, who Carla remembered had already introduced himself as PC Carlson, pressed the button of the tape recorded propped up on the table and began to speak, first giving a brief outline of their interview and his requirements of Carla.<p>

"Miss O'Brien. I know you've had a lot of questions pelted at you today, but you have to be aware that this is only because we want to make sure that both you and your brother are safe. Carla's brother is Darren O'Brien, aged six," he added, for the benefit of the recording. Carla didn't know what to say at this point so simply gave a small nod. "We have reports to suggest that you are currently living solely with your stepfather, Frank Foster. Is this correct?" Again, Carla nodded, her heart in her mouth. "Could you please tell us the whereabouts of your mother, Miss O'Brien?"

"She's on holiday."

"Is that so? I presume that she is in a country where mobile telephones don't work at all, as your school have tried to call her on several occasions. Where is she, Miss O'Brien?"

"She's… She's… I don't know where she is, okay?! She's on a bender again, like she always fucking seems to be!" Carla cried, choking back a sob as she desperately tried to get a grip of her emotions, knowing that if she said too much, she would risk the futures of both herself and her brother.

"So your mother has disappeared off the face of the earth and has left you in the care of a man who has only been in her life for a matter of months?" PC Carlson questioned, his eyebrows raising in disbelief, "And the man outside, Mr Peter Barlow, he's…?"

"My boyfriend."

"I see. And it was Mr Barlow who brought you in this morning, despite the fact that he is not your guardian nor living with you?"

"Yes. I stayed at his flat last night."

"Darren too?"

"Yes."

"Why was this?"

"Because… I don't know. Because we had a fight with Frank and I just wanted a cuddle…" Carla lied, trying not to allow her obvious terror to show in her voice.

"So it isn't possible that Mr Foster was the cause of your injuries?"

"I've said a thousand times, I walked into a door, okay? God, I sound like a broken flamin' record." PC Carlson frowned, flicking through the notes on the desk in front of him.

"Miss O'Brien, we've recently spoken to a friend of yours, a Miss Susan Dean. She sounded very distressed, making claims that Mr Foster has been abusing you, threatening you and forcing you to have sexual intercourse with strangers in return for money. You realise, young lady, that this is a criminal offense? Not only is it illegal to act as what you kids would call a 'pimp', but according to Miss Dean, you were only fifteen at the time of said acts." Carla froze, her face draining white at his words. Suze had blabbed. Suze had screwed up her life.

"I don't want to talk about this. Just… Stop the recording. Stop it!" Carla snapped, covering her hand with her mouth as thousands of tears filled her emerald eyes, which had lost all trace of their usual sparkle. PC Carlson sighed, but stretched out his arm and hit the 'off' button of the recorder regardless. He leant his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together, looking at Carla serenely.

"It's just you and me now, Carla…" he said, losing his formal tone and addressing her as more than the filthy prostitute that he believed she was, "You can talk to me. Come on. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. How long has all of this been going on?"  
>Carla took a deep breath before exhaling a thin line through the slight part in her lips. "A few months. I… I can't remember when it started. But it isn't Frank, okay? It isn't Frank. He's just trying to look out for us…"<p>

"Have you kept it all to yourself? Have you been going through it all on your own for that long?"

"No. I told Peter right back at the beginning, he… He's been my rock. We'd only just met, but I wouldn't have managed without going off the rails without him."

"You can put an end to all of this, you know," PC Carlson reminded her, his stare serious yet tranquilising at the same time, "Just say the words. You know it and I know it, all you have to do it say it out loud…" Carla lightly brushed her fingertips across the purple, black and blue bruising that smothered her jaw, and the little cut along the top of her lip. She then trailed them downwards to the bite marks on her collarbone, vile reminders of her dirty, disgusting nights with perverts, and finally came to rest on the obvious bruise on her shoulder. Slowly, she shook her head.

"I'm saying nothing…" she mumbled. PC Carlson sighed heavily. He drew a business card from the pocket of his trousers and boldly underlined a mobile number with a black ink biro before handing it to her. Reluctantly and somewhat warily, she took it between her index and middle fingers.

"If you change your mind, please, please call this number, okay? You're not alone, Carla. But we can't do anything unless you tell us what's been going on…"

"Can I go now?" Carla asked, quickly stuffing the card loose into her handbag. PC Carlson nodded, his face forlorn, and Carla pushed herself to her feet and shuffled towards the door, her heart thumping rapidly inside her chest. She had an earth-shattering deadline to meet, but first, she needed a mug of steaming hot chocolate, marshmallows and a cuddle.

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><p>"I've gone one step further…" Peter announced as he knocked the bedroom door open with his hip and stepped into the room, a mug of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, whipped cream and chocolate powder into the room, "There's whipped cream in here as well." He leant on the door to click it shut before placing the mug down onto the table and perching on the bed beside Carla, who was curled up in a ball towards on side of the mattress. He brushed the pad of his thumb across her defined cheekbone, causing hundreds of goosebumps to form across her entire body. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"<p>

"Stacks better now you're here…" Carla murmured in reply, shooting him a faint smile, "Lie down…" Naturally, Peter didn't need telling twice, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist as he cuddled up beside her.

"Darren's in the spare room. I've stuck on a Thomas the Tank Engine video that we picked up at the rental store on the way home from school. He's having the time of his life…" Peter whispered, his voice husky as he pressed a soft, loving kiss to her forehead, then to her nose, chin and eventually her lips. Carla flinched slightly with the final kiss, his lips pressing against the little cut along hers.

"I'm glad. I wouldn't want to see him upset by all of this…" she replied. There was a slight pause filled with a mutual understanding rather than awkwardness.

"Baby?"

"Mm…?"

"Why don't you relax, 'ey? Let me help you. Let me make you feel amazing, and special, and nothing like those bastards have made you feel lately…"_ Before she could protest, Peter touched a series of swift kisses along her neck, careful to avoid any bruises or other known sore spots. Though she was initially reluctant, Carla found herself unable to reject him as he swirled the tip of his tongue around the skin that joined her neck to her collarbone. She was dressed in nothing but an old shirt of his, giving him a very easy job. Slowly, he began to unfasten each individual button, making sure to kiss her newly exposed skin with every movement. Reaching the bottom, he circled his tongue around her navel, causing a low, involuntary moan to escape her partially parted lips. Carla's eyelids had fallen closed, allowing her to do nothing but enjoy his relaxation methods. Unsurprisingly, Peter was thrilled that she had already removed her underwear, as it allowed him to brush his feather-soft lips first across her abdomen, then her groin and finally flicking the tip off his tongue across the little bundle of nerve endings situated just above her enticing entrance._

_"Fuck…" Carla hissed in delight, the momentary bout of pleasure distracting from the pains of her life. Encouraged by her reaction, Peter pressed his tongue against her bud once again, this time swirling it around it in one slow movement. Her hips bucked in response. Not wanting her to lose control of her body too quickly, Peter trailed his tongue down her and ran it along her entire length, causing a judder of pleasure to erupt deep inside her body. She had never, ever experienced anything this pleasurable before. As Peter continued to work his tongue against her, occasionally allowing it to dart inside, a tingling sensation spread across her abdomen. Suddenly, a frantic bleeping pierced the passion-filled silence, and Carla's eyes shot open wide._

"What's that?" she demanded, her voice croaky with longing.

"Ignore it. It's just my alarm telling me it's six o'clock."

"Six o'clock?! Already?!"

"Hey, beautiful, you're meant to be relaxing…" Peter sighed, raising his hand and crawling on hands and knees up her body, placing his arms across her uncovered breasts and positioning his chin atop them.

"I'm sorry, I… I have to go and see Frank."

"You're not serious?"

"I have to! At least to pick up my stuff. I'll be back soon, and then we can carry on from here…"

"Want me to come with you?"

"No. No, I want you to stay here and look after Darren, I don't want to bother a babysitter at such short notice. It's something I've got to do on my own…" Carla replied, sitting up and pulling his shirt back on over her bare shoulders, deciding that she wanted to keep his clothing against her skin as a constant reminder of him. Peter nodded, tilting his head and pressing another kiss to her lips, gentle so as not to hurt her.

"I love you, baby. I love you so, so much that there aren't even any words to sum it up. And I'm really proud of you…" he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. Carla took a few seconds to regain her composure, his proximity increasing her heart rate and stealing her breath away once again. She knew that he would always have this toxic effect on her.

"I love you, too…"


	17. Alone

**This is the hardest chapter I've ever had to write. Although it's not very long, I'm quite proud of it, so any comments would be loved. Thanks millions to everyone who has already read and reviewed! It's upsetting me that this is the second-to-last chapter, but please stick around for the final instalment as it's crucial to the story's plotline. I can't believe it's finally come to the end, after eight months of writing! :'(  
>I love you all and everything you've said has been much appreciated; thank you again. 3<br>Will our heroine survive?**

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><p>All alone, Carla's high heels clicked across the pavement as she slowly made her way towards the flat in which she'd spent so many years of her with her mother, father, brother and, more recently, her evil brute of a stepfather. Since he'd appeared in her life, it hadn't seemed like a home. It certainly hadn't felt like a place offering comfort and security and, as she approached it for what she hoped would be the final time, she did not once hesitate to reconsider her life-changing decision. She knew that Peter would look after both she and Darren. She knew that there would be no need to be fearful of going home each day. And, most importantly, she knew that she would be happy. She'd never have to sell her body to any man and Frank would no longer be able to touch her whilst she was under Peter's watchful eye. Undoubtedly, it was the best decision that she would ever make. As she reluctantly glided up the front path and towards the spray paint-smeared front door of the grimy block of flats, Carla swore that she could hear hard, pummelling footsteps behind her. She froze. So did the footsteps. Before she could spin around and demand answers from her stalker, she felt a large, overbearing hand land on her shoulder and a cold blade on her throat. The warm breath of the stranger brushed her cheek as he drew in closer, his lips directly beside her ear. And then, a familiar voice whispered,<p>

"Where've you been, you little bitch? I want to know." Carla knew that voice like the back of own her hand. It had recurred in her nightmares for several months, ever since his torturous reign had begun. Frank tore open the door to the block and lugged her up the stairs, before shoving open his own scratched. front door, ignoring the pile of god-knows-what beside it and hauling her inside, pushing her limp, skinny body to the wooden floor. Her little black handbag was catapulted across the room, smashing into the wall and spilling its contents all over the room. As Frank approached, a whirring of images appeared in Carla's mind: one of her early Christmases, sat on her brand new rocking horse with her doting father snapping photos; holding her little brother in her arms on the day of his birth; coming home from school to find her father's suitcase by the front door, packed; being introduced to Frank, innocently puzzled as his demon eyes scanned over her body. Her life, in pictures.

"Oi. Sket. I asked you a question," Frank snapped through gritted teeth, his dark shadow looming over her as her approached her curled-up body, his knife firmly grasped in his outstretched hand, "So you should do me the courtesy of answering it." Alibi. Alibi. Alibi.

"I was just at the flat, with Peter," Carla whimpered, satisfied with her truthful response.

"Fucking his brains out, I bet," Frank sneered, his eyes flashing with anger at the thought of _his_ hooker, _his_ punching bag losing him valuable money, "Little slut."

"I haven't slept with him."

"Yeah. And I'm fucking Mother Teresa."

"I mean it, Frank, I haven't slept with Peter! Not that it's any of your business, anyway!" Carla cried. She instantly regretted opening her mouth as Frank reached down for her and hauled her up by the collar of her top before ramming her against the wall. His face was so close to hers that she could taste his breath as he breathed and could feel the moisture produced with every word.

"Oh, it's all my business. Everything you do, every move you make for the rest of your life is my—" His sentence was snapped short as his eyes darted over to the pile of Carla's belongings which had fallen out of her handbag. Tubes of lipstick, half a dozen little silver coins and a damaged photograph of her mother had tumbled from it, but what had caught his eye was sitting atop the pile, glimmering in the light which was flooding in through the gap in the drawn curtains: the card that the policeman had given her. His eyesight had never failed him, and he could clearly see an underlined mobile number in bold letters across the front. Seething, he turned back to her and raised his fist, sucking in a sharp, harsh intake of breath as the bright silber knife sliced the air between them before coming to a sudden halt.

* * *

><p>Peter had known all along that he shouldn't have let her leave alone. As soon as he'd watched her trembling body disappear around the corner, he'd telephoned a babysitter to keep an eye on Darren whilst he tried to catch up with his girlfriend and accompany her on her nerve-wracking outing. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen Frank drag her weak body inside the block of flats, though had thought it best to alert the police, and was preoccupied with doing so as an earth-shattering scream pierced through his thoughts like a knife. His body pulsing adrenaline and full of sheer terror, he raced towards the block of flats in which he assumed Carla would be, wrenched the heavy door open and bounded up the crumbling staircase, taking the steps two at a time in a desperate bid to reach her as speedily as possible. In one swift movement, he kicked the front door of Frank's pigsty off of its hinges and barged into the room, stopping short in his tracks as he laid eyes on her, his baby. Her body was strewn across the wooden floor in a little puddle of blood, her hand held over her stomach. It was clear that she was still alive as her usually bright eyes flickered, though they were bloodshot and heavy. Her long, dark hair in which he'd become lost countless times was scraggy and sprawled out underneath her head, and her limbs – legs in particular – were splayed out at seemingly painful angles. Completely disregarding Frank's presence, Peter dropped to his knees beside her body and slipped a hand under her head, distraught and unable to join together a string of logical thoughts.<p>

"Carla, baby…" he murmured, his voice rising with horror as her whitewashed face creased with pain, "It's all going to be okay now. I'm here. Peter's here. Just stay awake for me, darling…"

"P-… Peter…" she croaked, stopping only as he tilted his head forward and prevented her from speaking with the soft touch of his lips.

"Don't, love, just save your energy. Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I should never have let you go out on your own. But I promise, when you're better, when everything's back to normal, I'll take proper care of you." His eyes glanced down to her hand as she withdrew it from her hip, revealing a deep stab wound which was still oozing blood. Quickly, she covered it again as he let out a pent-up sob, wanting to prevent the life-threatening loss of blood.

"Look after Darren…" mumbled Carla, her lips parting only a fraction and trembling with the effort of moving several muscles at once.

"You can do that, Car, when you're better."

"Just… Promise me…" she whispered, her voice noticeably growing weaker by the second, barely audible above the roaring sound of sirens outside the building. Peter had no idea where the police were, nor whether or not they had arrested Frank. At that moment, that was the absolute last thing on his mind. He was there purely to protect Carla, and he would not leave her side until he knew that everything would be alright.

"I promise that everything's going to be okay… I love you, beautiful," he murmured, speaking the three little words which he had longed to say for a very long time, "I love you so much that you wouldn't believe. In a few years' time, we can get married, we can buy an amazing house and we can have a baby and a dog and a pet chinchilla. We'll have it all, sweetheart. Everything will be perfect and you'll be able to forget all of the shit that that scumbag has put you through.

"I love you, too…" Carla replied, giving a soft groan as the setting around her began to fade, as Peter's worried expression became nothing but a blur, and as her eyelids slowly fluttered closed. Peter gave yet another sob as he held her limp form close to his chest. She was still alive, still breathing and still making the occasional grumble of discomfort. Peter had every belief in her. After everything she'd been through, she'd yet to show just how hurt she was on the inside. He hoped with every ounce of hope that he had that she would be able to use that admirable strength right at that moment, when she needed it the most.

_'Little lady left this earth in the worst way, all because she got a card on her sixteenth birthday'_


	18. Forever

**Firstly, I would like to thank every single one of you who has read and (hopefully!) enjoyed this story, both those who have been reading from the very start back in December 2011, and those who began yesterday; this wouldn't have been nearly as much fun without you. Secondly, to all reviewers - your reviews mean the world. Thirdly, to all those who have Twitter-stalked me and encouraged me, you guys spurred me on! ;) Okay, okay, soppy stuff aside, I've loved writing this fic and I'm sad that it's over. But if I had continued to write, I reckon it would have lost everything good about it. So this is it, the end of Carla's story. I hope you've all enjoyed it and I hope you like this final chapter. Please, please check out my other current fics, 'In Fair Weatherfield' and 'The Man Who No One Wants To Recognise', and keep looking out for my new fics that are in the pipeline :).**

**Love,**

**JustAGirl'xo**

* * *

><p><strong>Five Years On<strong>

As a stream of tears cascaded down his stubble-covered cheek, Peter choked for air, his lungs struggling to function properly due to his sorrowful sobs. He despised crying. He despised the idea of appearing weak. But, as he stared at the dull, grey granite headstone in front of him, the name engraved across the front for as long as he should live, he was unable to control his emotions. He was crouched low to the ground, a blooming bouquet of pink rhododendrons cradled in his arms. He missed her like crazy, he missed having someone to talk to and pour his heart out to whenever he had a problem. She would always fix it. Always. Internally, he felt like a segment of him had vanished, like a special, invisible connection had been broken forever. The last five years had been full of emotional torment. The day of the stabbing was still as clear as the A1 motorway at three in the morning, though he'd tried with all his might to desperately block out certain aspects. The way he'd held Carla's limp body in his arms and accompanied her to the local hospital, where he'd struggled to remain calm as she was rushed into surgery immediately. Her stunning face, her perfectly-formed features, creased in pain. He'd hated the fact that, for once, he had been unable to solve her problems. It had been heartbreaking. The day of Frank's trial was, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the most horrendous experiences of his difficult life – after a gruelling battle of solicitor's paperwork and the jury's mutterings, Frank had been sentenced to fourteen years behind bars for a variety of crimes, some of which Peter had never even known about. In his mind, nothing less than a life imprisonment sentence would have been enough for him to be satisfied, and not even that would have repaid Carla for the hell that he'd put her through. Peter shuddered as he recalled the eerie stare of Frank's piercing eyes, completely unemotional and unaffected by the crimes for which he was about to be punished. There was one thing, however, that Peter was glad for. It had been decided that young Darren should only be told the necessary facts of why he was to move in with a complete stranger and never see his beloved stepfather again; the gruesome details could be left until he was old enough to truly understand. To Peter's pleasant surprise, Darren had settled quickly into his flat and had soon begun to view him as the older brother that he had always dreamed of. Now, at the tender age of eleven, he was excited about the idea of moving to a larger home, which Peter had proposed a few days prior to his visit to the graveyard. Darren saw his mother twice a week. Sheryl O'Brien had been found merely hours after the aforementioned stabbing incident, when Frank had confessed her location to be an old flat of his in the South of London. Supposedly, he'd hidden her away there and lied to her that her son and daughter wanted nothing more to do with her – when she was found, Sheryl had been a trembling, nervous wreck, though her smile was restored as she held her little boy in her arms for the first time in months. At least something about the messy situation had had a happy ending. Frank's story had concluded badly, as deserved, and Darren and Sheryl had been reunited… But what about Peter's own story? He'd struggled, there was no doubt about that. For days, he had visited Carla every morning until night in the hospital, praying that she would wake from the coma that she had found herself in, or at least show signs of improvement. It had been the hardest period of his life. After losing his mother at such a cruelly early age, Peter knew that he would have given up on love altogether if he'd have lost Carla as well. Just thinking about those dark days made his brain ache with grief. Suddenly, Peter felt a small, comforting hand on his shoulderblade, though he didn't look up. He didn't want her to see the redness of his usually smiling eyes.

"Hey… It's okay…" a woman's voice spoke, soothingly, as the figure crouched beside him and pressed a quick kiss to his temple, "She misses you, too. I know she does…" Peter nodded slowly, stretching out his arms and carefully placing the bouquet on the overgrown grass in front of the headstone, propping it up. He then proceeded to lightly trace the tip of his index finger across the deep lettering etched into the granite. '_Susan Barlow. Gone too soon_'. He remembered vividly the day that his father had phoned to inform him of his adored twin sister's tragic demise. Peter had known inside his heart that something had been wrong, but he'd never imagined that he was about to lose his only real sister to a speeding car. It had been exactly four years since that fateful day, and he was eternally grateful for his constant comfort throughout Susan's funeral and each anniversary since. His strength. His Carla. The day that she'd awoken from her coma had marked the rest of their lives together. At twenty-one years of age, Carla was more beautiful that she had ever been; glowing, some might say. She'd been brave and faced her tormentor in court, and had pushed her year of hell to the very back of her mind. That wasn't to say that her dark days hadn't haunted her dreams for months after Frank's sentencing, though she'd been determined that her nights on the streets in miniskirts and crop tops wouldn't affect the rest of her life. She helped Peter to his feet and snaked her arms around his waist, letting him run the backs of his fingers across her rosy cheeks and through her windswept hair.

"I can't believe I almost lost you…" Peter whispered, his voice hoarse as his throat remained tight.

"Shh… You didn't, baby. That's the main thing," Carla reminded him, tilting her head ever-so-slightly so that her forehead touched his. Together, they stood in silence, listening to the cheerily tweeting birds in the trees surrounding them and their calm, harmonious breaths. It was as though even their lungs fitted perfectly. As soon as Carla had been allowed home after the incident, Peter had moved her belongings into his flat so that Carla would never again have to set foot in the abandoned building that she had once called her home, despite the fact that it had never felt like one. 'Home: An environment offering security and happiness and a valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin'. In the now-rundown, boarded up set of rooms, Carla hadn't felt secure, nor happy. In fact, the only place in which she had felt happiness and security in the short twenty-one years of her life had been where she was at that exact moment, in the arms of her lover.

"Are you ready to go home…?" Carla asked him, softly, aware that Darren was waiting for them to return – the three of them, along with Carla's mother and Peter's father, had planned to go for dinner that evening to toast Susan's memory.

"Yeah…" Peter murmured, "Yeah, I am…" Slowly, he stroked his hands down the sides of her neck, her collarbone, her chest and, finally, came to rest on her stomach, which was unnoticeably plumper than it had previously been. She smiled, causing his heart to fill with an instant warmth and the corners of his lips to turn up into a loving smile of his own.

"That's better. It likes it when you're smiling…" Carla replied, ambiguously. Peter reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers as, together, they walked to the beautifully-decorated archway that adorned the exit of the church, each thinking deeply about what lay ahead. That night, they would announce to their small family the secret that they had been hiding for three months. Both were experiencing a mixture of feelings; excitement, nervousness, happiness and fear, all at the same time. However, they knew deep down that they would be okay. Along with Darren, they were a family of survivors, a family which would soon include a little boy or a little lady of their very own.


End file.
